


Of Angels and Demons AU - Ascended

by LionessGamer



Category: Christian Bible (New Testament), Diablo (Video Game), Nußknacker und Mausekönig | Nutcracker and the Mouse King - E. T. A. Hoffmann
Genre: AU, a lot won't make sense unless you are in the know, but I don't mind questions, but it is essentially a father-son story . . . a tragic one, uses some angel lore from Christian and Jewish religions, uses some lore and characters from the Diablo series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:28:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 51,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25490887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LionessGamer/pseuds/LionessGamer
Summary: This is a gift to my good buddy, Freckleocalypse.A tragic event in the story-line of an AU that Freckle and I created with our nutcrackers, Abel and Daemon. The AU is a kind of merge between the Diablo-series world, real-life biblical writings, and our own twisting lore.I won't go into detail, but our boys are both angels, Abel's a former demon and Daemon's a high-ranking archangel who helped redeem him, and they share a father-son bond.The main story is pretty fantastic, but this part's a heartbreaker.Any questions and I'll be happy to answer.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	1. Reborn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Freckleocalypse](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Freckleocalypse).



The sound was deafening to behold.

Hundreds of battle-worn angels lifted their voices up to the reddened sky in a thunderous roar of triumph, watching as the ravaged demon horde fled across the bloodied, smoking fields and back to their fiery, disgusting pits. At the backs of the angels, the Mortal Barrier held strong and free of the demonic influence at last, gleaming across the wide sky like ever shifting clouds of color and energy. It cut flashes of opalescent streaks and patterns across the predominantly red sky, painting glowing hues across the shining armor of the heavenly warriors.

Beneath the spider-webbing field of the Barrier, some angels who took up the victory cry remained perched in relative safety upon the mountain range of floating islands of shifting stone, too injured or weary to fight any longer. Those with fighting strength left fell upon their retreating enemies like diving falcons, spearing those too slow to escape and harrying the rest.

Every demon from the limping behemoths to the small, squealing abominations fled bleeding and gored before the heavenly lights, seeking the gory pits they had torn through the temporal fabric of Purgatory, or fleeing to the distant, ever-moving mountains of Tartarus, the peaks fiery and curled like claws against the blackened sky.

But as the demons stampeded across their dead and dying, across pools of hot blood and smoldering stone with screams of fury and anguish, one remained in place, the tide of demons curving around him when none daring to approach.

Hovering in place while the other hell beasts bolted for their lives, was the freshly scarred, skeletal form of their lord and leader, alarmingly one of the three Prime Evils who reigned over all of Hell itself.

The sight of his large, elegant, grotesque figure on the battlefield would be a horrifying situation to any of the ranks of Heaven’s armies, the strength of his powers and dominion always warring with his brothers to be the most dangerous of the all in Heaven’s eyes. However, now at the end of battle, the demon lord’s intimidation was a little worse for the wear.

One of his four arms was missing, nothing more than a seeping stump, and one massive, snaking, ram’s horn was sheared clean in half. Oil-like blood and gore ran freely from numerous wounds across his skeletal body, but the majority ran like sludge from a massive, devastating break running down his knitted ribcage.

A death blow.

Reaching one of the faltering Hell rifts, the dying Demon Lord stopped short for a moment, levitating just out of its reach, and turned back to the bloodied, stone battlefield, his claws holding his chest wound closed to try lengthening his lifespan.

Bright red, free-floating orbs burned with absolute hatred out of the sockets of his fanged skull, glaring at the rows of angels driving his army back.

Only a short time ago, his demonic horde had been devastating these heavenly forces that lined the ever-moving barrier to the Mortal Realm, slaughtering garrisons of the Heavens’ birds as if they were offered lambs. The horde, from the smallest demon to the colossal, had all shrieked and roared with exhilaration at the promise of flooding en masse into the human world _at long last_. _To feast upon it and run it hot red and shining white with the blood of mortals and angels alike as they seized it for their own._

Then, they would commence their victorious charge onward, through Heaven’s Pearl Gates.

_And so, the invasion of Heaven itself would begin._

And yet, _here they were_ , his minions now fleeing in droves to evade their own slaughter.

All because of one. Single. **_Angel._**

And yet, despite his hatred, despite his overwhelming rage at the humiliating sight, the Prime Evil’s bone jaws twisted into a sinister, _victorious_ smirk, heedless to his black blood oozing through his long, sharpened teeth and spindly claws as evidence to the severity of his wound for all to see.

His army had been defeated by a single intervention, yes, and he himself was close to the Void’s unmaking embrace . . . but his true target was far, _far_ closer to it.

The Demon Lord had known from the start that there was little chance the attack would succeed in breaking through to the Mortal Realm. Countless millennia of trial-and-error had taught them that. It had also taught him, unlike his brothers, that brute force was never the entire solution.

No. The attack had been a lure, the bait. A distraction.

The true objective of his attack, a plan hidden from both his fellow Lords and his own horde alike, stood tall across the way, a strong, shining warrior watching his retreat with a gaze of raging, blue flame and a mightier-than-thou glare. He stood with such strength to his stance and his legendary sword in hand, his large, electrical wings fanned out with tendrils whipping in threat as his soldiers streamed forth around him to finish off the stragglers. To all appearances, the angel seemed be the reigning victor of this great battle spanning across Purgatory.

But even from across a lake of blood and carnage, the great demon could see those glaring blue eyes were dulling fast, his sinking wings rapidly losing their powerful shine. Deep, claw marks all across his armored body bled like streams of molten gold to the ground, and pieces of his armor had been painfully ripped away from him as well, an injury akin to skinning the hide from an armored beast.

Those scattered wounds were nothing to the defeated Lord, however. All his attention, all his wicked glee, was focused instead on the devastating hole in the archangel’s chest, a gaping tunnel running straight through his body and through his very Soul Core. The open wound positively gushed with his rival’s precious blood, cascading down his front and back from its very source like a river of white-hot lava.

The demonic lord glanced down at his light-covered claws and the tail-like spinal column whipping below his floating body.

That blow had been positively satisfying . . . as well as shocking.

The lord had been surprised and outraged when the angel didn’t die right there in his claws, impaled perfectly on his spinal tail. It had infuriated him, the archangel’s stubborn and _impossible_ perseverance. Such a wound should have been Death Cometh the moment it was made! And yet, the archangel did not perish. In fact, in the demon lord’s premature victory and confusion, the wretched angel had even managed to return the favor, the demon’s broken chest sapping at his own life force being a testament to the angel’s own surprise attack.

Now, here the archangel stood in victory, posed tall and proud as if a killing blow did not apply to him!

The Lord of Hatred’s loathing and rage rarely burned so hot. But the demon ruler was very familiar with the virtue of patience, his capacity matched only by that of his decreased, fellow-Lord, Belial.

And he was far from a fool. The angel may somehow be delaying the inevitable, but it was still just that . . . **_inevitable._**

Very soon, his old enemy’s infuriating resistance would give out . . . _and Mephisto, Lord of All That Hates and is Hated, was absolutely **starved** for the sight of the mighty Supreme of the Archangels perishing under the delicious wounds of **HIS DOING.**_

But the Lord of Hatred, as claimed, was no fool. If he did not leave now, the portals would close without him, himself too weak from his injuries to open his own any longer. 

He still had a chance of surviving this battle. His opponent did not.

That knowledge alone would have to be satisfying enough. No sense in sacrificing his own life just to see his foe meet his end first.

Besides . . . this was only the beginning of his plans, the first trap sprung. _There was still more work to be done._

The Prime Evil moved himself within the grasp of the swirling portal as the remaining angels streamed closer, some charging straight for him. The lord paid them no mind, instead keeping his red gaze fixated on the diminishing blue depths of their leader’s “windows to the soul” from across the way. The demon’s grin never slipped from his face as he floated further into the hellish energy of the rift in retreat, his voice rumbling out across the battlefield like a thousand needles stabbing to the hearts of the righteous.

**_“My army tastes defeat this day, archangel . . . but know that I do not, for I have won my prize.”_ **

Mephisto slipped fully into the portal, its energy collapsing at last. His growling, echoing laughter and his burning eyes stayed the longest within the swirling, tormented energy of the infernal gate as it closed.

**_“Your life is mine, Oh High Supreme . . . and with it soon . . . all of Creation.”_ **

Angels darted forward, bloodied spears and swords drawn, but they struck nothing. The Hell rift disappeared before they could reach, taking the hated Demon Lord and his crackling laughter along with it.

The last of the portals and hell pits closed soon after, disappearing from the air or collapsing into piles of burning rubble. Demons who were left behind or were still running for the retreating, burning mountains quickly met their ends on holy blades.

Silence that followed the last demon shriek, an emptiness devoid of any sound of life or movement.

Then, like a soft lullaby breaking through the stillness of night, the first Songs rang out at last. The voices of nearly every able angel grew in swells and beautifully wove together the intricate timbres of glory and mourning for their living and the dead. They were melodious and thundering, voices resonating through the air and rumbling the stained and ruined earth of Purgatory. Raging fires died before the sound and the blood and darkness consuming the sky broke and faded to their unified power. At the angels’ singing call, the rays of the Heavens’ Light streamed through the disintegrating storm clouds and danced with the surges of the Barrier, bathing its calling defenders in its soothing shine and slowly burning away the demonic blood and flesh that fouled the barren land.

The Songs continued in the strengthening dawn, flowing harmonious from each angel to the other as they healed their wounded and gathered their dead . . . until a scream cut through them all, shattering the coming peace with an ambush of terror.

All eyes turned from their duties and songs to the heart of the battlefield, to an angel swooping in with swift wings for another collapsing upon the ground. The large angel on the ground fell to his knees, his wings of ribboned light drifting into the dirt as his bloodied sword fell from his hand with a soft, yet deafening, ring.

Raphael, Heaven’s Healing Hand, swiftly landed before his kneeling Supreme, falling to his knees as well and gripping his brother’s ruined shoulders.

The mouth of the master of healers opened and closed in astonishment, frantic to speak, yet unable to find the words. He could only stare at the horrible sight before him, the shattered Core exposed and sputtering before his eyes.

For the first time in his entire existence, the medicinal general’s mind was frozen at the sight of a wound, going completely blank at horrifying conclusion that his powers of perception provided.

Slowly, the hanging head of his dying leader rose and Raphael’s Core gave a painful wrench at the sight of his once bright-blue eyes, looking out from behind dirtied white bangs, fading into a dull grey, the pupils close to disappearing all together into the whites of his eyes. Angelic blood flowed steadily from his mouth and dripped from the open cuts on his face and body. He gave a weak cough and Raphael cringed at the sound of a bubbling gurgle in his throat and the wet squelch of the chest wound.

 _“Raphael . . .”_ The master medic balked at the weak, gurgled whisper that his brother’s voice had become, his Core aching with heartbreak. At last, the healer’s voice left his throat, wrecked and broken in his growing grief and shock at the reality that was before him.

**_“D-Daemon . . . h-how . . . are you . . .?”_ **

_He shouldn’t . . . he shouldn’t be alive! He . . . he should be . . . he **will** be . . ._

The Supreme of Archangels smiled at him . . . _SMILED_ at him . . . and shakenly rose an armored hand to place it over Raphael’s on his shoulder. Other archangels were gathering around them, but neither were paying attention, even as their warriors drew closer and their concerned questions and horrified gasps tainted the once song-filled air. Even as the volume and number of fearful voices grew, Raphael heard nothing but his old friend’s dwindling voice pleading with him from his blood-filled mouth.

 _“Raphael . . . you . . . and the others . . . **please** . . . keep him safe . . . h-he will n-need you a-all . . .” _The medic brother just barely had the sense to listen to the soft words and understand their meaning before he witnessed Daemon’s staring eyes fade to the point of near emptiness. His blue, tendrilled wings collapsed completely to the ground behind him, each ribbon fading away inch by inch like paper put to the flame.

When he spoke again, the dying archangel’s gaze fell away with Raphael’s as his head began to drop, causing the medic’s grip on his remaining shoulder plates to tighten in fright.

 _“A-and t-tell him . . . tell h-him that I will . . . a-always . . .”_ The angel’s empty eyes closed at last behind his limp bangs and his soft smile fell away. Raphael’s soul stopped in place as Daemon’s voice trailed into silence and his hand fell from his own. Behind him, his wings disappeared completely into the tattered remains of his cape and back.

Raphael screamed out as his Supreme’s body fell against him.

**_“DAEMON!”_ **

The shriek of his commander’s name barely left his mouth before a powerful shockwave forced him and the others away, knocking grounded soldiers back and sending flyers into panicked spins and flips. Those above upon the crags of drifting stone clung to the cracks and crevices like seabirds caught in a windstorm, their armored and bleeding bodies flat against the rock and wings folded tight.

Raphael slid across the ground in a hard roll, ripped away from Daemon in the blast. The decreased bodies of demons and angels alike were hurled limply alongside him across the destroyed battlefield, forcing the medic to roll and dodge where he could to avoid being buried in the dead. Packing in his startled wings close to his body, he at last extended his curved-needle claws from the fingers of his gloves and slammed them to the ground, digging them into the stone and dust to halt his tumble and brace himself against the column torrent of wind and angelic power.

Opening his eyes to the whipping gusts, the Raphael’s eyes widened as he witnessed the gathering of blinding light and tornado-like winds, a cyclone of pure power.

The pressure grew and intensified, the angel’s claws scoring lines in the rock as the force pushed him further and further away, before the gathering light erupted and soared into the kaleidoscope sky. A booming beacon of white and blue energy, it could be seen and heard for miles within the desolate, ever-changing lands. The shine of the massive beam continued for a few precious seconds, dazzling and blinding all who gazed upon it as it weaved across the realm like a roaring, snaking dragon.

Then, before all witnesses, it simply vanished, dispersing into the gathering clouds and endless sky of the Mortal Barrier.

Silence reigned over the battlefield once more, but no Songs rose to sooth the deadened air. All only watched the broken, empty body of their commander, laying in the bloodied dirt like a slain mortal beneath the sparkling edge of the Mortal Realm.

His orphaned sword glinted weakly under the clouds of dust and blood, the light dying out from its living jewel.

The beloved Supreme of the Heavens’ Might was no more.

_\-------------_

The blazing sun floated lazily across a pure-blue sky in the throes of afternoon, flanked by tuffs of swan-down cumulus. Beaming its warm, golden rays down upon the world of mortals, a peaceful parish-turned-city was awash in its glorious light.

Once a small parish of dingy cabins and scattered huts upon a modest patch of farm land, the province of Sounin had grown large over the many centuries. In this day and age, it had swelled and progressed over the generations, under the blessings of good faith and hard work, into a sprawling city surrounded by sweeping, wheat fields and dotting settlements. A small nation in its own right under the law and protection of the Angelic faith, the city had become a mecca for art and music, beautiful in its famous, outdoor murals, fantastic frescos, and grand concerts. Even the gardens were a sight to behold, a wide variety of beautiful, sweet-smelling flora lining the stone-paved streets, decorating the parks, and hanging in pots from the windowsills of the wholesome, wooden houses and towering, brick shops.

The massive town was a sight to behold on a normal day, but a time of year had come when the human metropolis would nearly burst with color and excitement, and swarm with visitors from across the land.

Laughter and chatter filled the sweetened air as the local denizens made their final preparations for the annual _Festival of Heaven_ , a local event stretching several days that celebrated the centuries of peace and prosperity, the humble beginnings of their beloved community, and the renewal of their Heavenly faith. Pigeons and doves flew freely through the air alongside droves of pretty songbirds, sitting upon magnificent birdhouses and swinging perches as honored symbols of the faith. Large banners flapped in the wind from windows and streetlights. Music peppered the warm air as the cry of vendors lured in tourists arriving for the events.

Last-minute decorations were being assembled and placed throughout the city, food from the bountiful harvest was being prepared, arrangements were being finalized, and offerings were being fashioned in honor of the Holy Spirit and His angels; especially for His appointed guardians believed to watch over their fair city.

Unseen by the busy mortals below, the sun’s light painted the wings and robes of the aforementioned guardians, the heavenly beings perched delicately on rooftops or soared high through the swirling air. They watched with eager and proud eyes as their human charges made the last preparations for tomorrow’s opening ceremony.

But it was not to say the angels of the region were not also preparing. Many took part in their own half of the celebrations alongside their human companions. As the humans made to honor them and their Almighty Lord, so too did the angels give that honor in return.

Those with bonds to the Creational elements tended to the earth, coaxing the growth and health of the crops and plants around town, and covering the parish in bountiful green and beautiful blooms. Alongside them, those with guardianship over humanity walked and whispered among the throngs of mortals, soothing the worries and nurturing the happiness of their charges and their families in this time of festivity. One guardian angel weaved relief into the sore muscles of an elderly widow as the woman stiffly rose from her garden tending, carefully lifting a basket of freshly-cut flowers for her granddaughters’ coming dance performances. Another guardian gingerly placed a young man’s lost engagement ring in plain sight, the fretting beau immensely relieved to find the hard-earned token for his perfect proposal at the festival’s end.

Smiles and laughter were the staple of the angels as some of them happily played and raced with each other through the air, their fun unnoticed by the humans and animals, but their eager aura implanting comfort and enthusiasm in the mortal beings nonetheless. Other angels watched the fliers warmly, but stayed out of their games, going about their duties to the mortals gladly in this time of peace and happiness.

Some, however, watched the frolicking of their fellows with a more serious, reserved air.

Watchers, sentinel-class angels, stayed at their posts all across the city and its miles of rolling land, observing all from their motionless stances within the trees, upon the buildings, and even within the earth itself. Hidden and invisible to nearly all beings and creatures, be them mortal or immoral, their chameleon-like wings were wrapped tightly around their slim, faded bodies like the cloaked wings of a fruit bat, their wide, unblinking eyes continuously searching for any signs of danger or trouble. Some bolder Watchers chose more direct positions as they watched over the human ecosystem around them, merging with the stone statues of angels erected in the graveyards or the angelic idols perched upon the tops of the churches and citadels.

If even a whiff of strong evil was detected, be it cultic or demonic in nature, their alarm would swiftly sweep across the ranks of angels within the territory, a near silent shrill of a song that would harbor a warning for the angelic caretakers and a call to action for the reigning Principality and the sizable flock of archangels stationed within the winds above.

All the precaution was to be expected when demonic forces continually sought to breach to barrier into the coveted Mortal Realm. The few demons who managed to get through on their own tended to lay low and breed, so there was always the danger of calamity and war falling upon humanity and their world. In response to the danger, the Principalities, the Princes of the Third Triad of the Heavens, were tasked to watch over the civilizations of Man across the entirety of the realm, commanding their angelic flocks for the protection and guidance of the world beyond the protective barrier. It was by their power and leadership that the angels of the Earth could vanquish the most fearsome of demons to pass the Barrier, and that the civilizations of humanity grew so large, prosperous, and faithful to the Heavens’ Light.

For Sounin City, the visions and stories of their resident Principality and his angels were revered and legendary, passed down for generations with a mixture of myth and truth. They gave their prayers to him and the Almighty Lord, the human seers providing glimpses of the angel’s and his flock’s likenesses to the people for artisans and painters to recreate in their famed murals and detailed statues.

With droves of humans and angels busying themselves for the celebration of their bonds and success, many would suppose the honored prince of the city’s angels would be deep within the work efforts, giving instruction and overseeing the preparations.

He was indeed, but not within the city limits.

Far from the metropolis, three angels rested their wings and walked along the border of a golden wheat fields within the territory, inspecting the harvest and finishing up their plans for the next few days of festivities.

The angel currently speaking was of an older time, created during one of the first Ages of Creation. His face was weathered and aged, but kind and calm. Grey hair was slicked back over his head and down his neck, ending in curls around his shoulders as the wide ring of his halo glowed white onto the strands from behind his head. A long, grey beard circled his smile and hang down onto his silver-robed chest. Grey and black wings were folded at his back, tattered and missing some feathers, but still tall and strong. The old angel’s deep brown eyes looked kindly upon his superior, bowing his head respectfully as he spoke.

“Your aides are ready, my Prince. Their charges are all doing well and the arrangements made for the visiting guardians are proceeding perfectly.” The Principality looked up at his second-in-command with a pleased smile, lifting his speckled, brown and white wings in gratitude as they swept back his blue-gray cape.

“Thank you for taking care of that for me, Demitri! I owe you, my friend!” The bright green eyes of the young Ruler were nearly closed due to the extent of his wide, excited grin, the golden shine of his halo positively sparkling above his head. He nodded up to the old malakhim in acknowledgement before folding back in his broad, pigeon-like wings, taking a moment to relax into their walk as he admired the gorgeous, rolling hills and planted fields.

“This year’s festival is going to be great!” The freckled angel uttered excitedly before falling silent, looking upon the sweeping lands of his home. Beside him, his companions fell into a quiet lull with him, enjoying the peace of the land now that their reports and suggestions to their prince was finished. Their comfortable silence was only broken when the leading angel’s eyes suddenly widened, the youthful angel remembering one last idea. He quickly turned to the shorter angel walking to his right.

“Oh, Triss!” The young woman, before intently studying a flourishing field and the work of its field hands, snapped to attention at the sound of her name, her blue-jay-like feathers puffing up in surprise as her white halo bobbed above her. Her pale-blue eyes locked with her leader’s before she dipped her head and smoothed out her wings dutifully.

“Yes, Sir Abel?” The Prince sighed good-naturedly at the elemental angel’s continued refusal to drop the formality. Nor was he ever successful with Demitri in that regard. Many angels like them were of a compulsive nature in their addressing of ranks, feeling themselves rude or in error if the respect of title was not given readily. Abel always sought to gingerly coax the instinct out of them, but nonetheless, he let it go for now as an idea filled him with delight.

“Could you please take some of the flower maidens to the west side of the district? I noticed some beautiful wild flowers there that would go perfectly with the festival opening tomorrow! Do you think you guys could spread them out over towards the . . .” His listening companions blinked in confusion as Abel abruptly stopped in his tracks, his words trailing off as a look of puzzlement replaced his child-like smile. Looking down at his body, Abel felt a strange sensation forming in his chest, like that of a tightness or a bout of breathlessness after a long flight.

Abel opened his mouth to speak, noticing his friends’ concerned glances and quick to reassure them, but he soon found his voice choking on a painful gasp, his gloved hand darting up to clench at his aching chest. His loyal assistants halted their steps immediately, concern and worry overtaking their features.

“Sir Abel?” Triss called as she stepped forward, placing a hand on his arm. Her wings opened instinctively, a fear growing within her at the sight of Abel’s disturbed face and clutching hand.

Within his breast, Abel felt his Core tremble and pulse uncomfortably, painfully. The spontaneousness of the ailment startled him, but he could also feel a deep, unexplained sense of dread building behind his soul’s fluttering. He tried to think of some explanation for what was happening, but before he could even voice any question or comfort to his friends, he felt the feeling so suddenly turn hollow, becoming much more like that of despair or hopelessness.

But . . . he had just now been happy. Why was he suddenly so sad and with his soul aching?

Shaken, the freckled angel at last answered his friend, a great confusion overtaking him as he looked down at his chainmailed chest as if it were some strange creature.

“I’m . . . I’m okay, Triss. I just . . . I just suddenly feel—AH!” The angel yelped as his Core gave an unexpected throb of pain, forcing him to bend himself forward in a defensive curl as he fell to one knee. Both of his hands now clenched at his blue, riding vest and chainmail as his wings thrashed at his back, a great sense of loss attacking him with the pain. Tears began to gather in the corners of his eyes at the suddenness of the mysterious torment.

“Sir Abel! What’s wrong?!”

“My Prince?!”

Both of his friends darted forward, gently placing their hands on his arms and back to hold him steady as they tried to see what was wrong. Abel’s breathing was becoming heavy and wheezing, the pain in his Core dulling but never leaving.

“I-I-I . . .” The angel’s pained expression turned scared, his breathing turning fast and panicked as he tried to make sense of this sudden affliction.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Triss asked nervously, her eyes wide with fear and concern. Demitri was instantly kneeling before Abel, trying to move aside the quivering angel’s hands and clothing to see what injury must be underneath. It wouldn’t be the first time the stubborn prince had tried to hide or ignore an injury.

Abel’s whole body shivered from the throbbing beats of his soul, the unexplained feelings of loss and dread assaulting it as it ached. A glittering tear finally fell down his cheek as he whimpered, his voice breaking as he lifted his wide gaze up to his fretting angels.

“I-I don’t know. But something is d-definitely . . . _something’s_ **_wrong_**.” Abel allowed Demitri to pull his hands away from his sternum, but it wasn’t long before one hand began clawing at the left side of his chest. Along with his aching center, there was a burning sensation starting to bloom on his skin close to his collar, frighteningly similar to the familiar touch of a red-hot blade or poker. The pain in that area began to stab at him with every pulse of his soul, causing him to hiss and gasp through his flowing tears of pain.

“I-I-it b-burns.” Triss blinked at Abel’s shuddering whimper, watching as Demitri now hurriedly began to pry Abel’s hand away and move his shirt and armor aside.

“What is burning?” The old one asked just before he pushed away the collar of Abel’s cape and pulled his collar down, revealing the flesh below on the left side of his collarbone.

What they saw made both angels jump back, Demitri’s hand releasing his prince in his shock as his old wings gave an alarmed flap backwards. The thick cloth of Abel’s cape and garb quickly moved back into place without the hold, but a moment after, Triss boldly stepped forward. Gently, she shooed away Abel’s returning hand and pushed aside the layers of fine fabric and metal herself.

There Abel’s bond-mark lay, a symbol of his rebirth and his claim to the Supreme’s bloodline. She had seen it before, as had many others. She knew how the holy sigil for the Supreme should appear in its delicate, royal glory, much like a mortal’s tattoo with glittering ink of liquid gold and flecks of sapphire.

But now, before her very eyes, the mark was not glittering in the light, but glowing like a sacred rune, shining light out to her like a lit flame of blue and gold beneath his skin.

Jaw dropping open, the woman’s eyes darted up to Abel’s, whose watery eyes frequently clenched shut as waves of pain began to emerge from his writhing soul and from the mark itself.

“S-Sir Abel . . . your bond-mark . . . it’s . . . it’s glowing like an ember!” Her exclamation snapped Abel somewhat out of his daze of pain. Backing out of Triss’s grasp, he stumbled to his feet and pulled down his collar himself, anxious to see the sigil that marked the spot of the lethal wound that had received his bloodsire’s lifeblood.

At the sight of his prized mark burning with such intense light, Abel could barely breathe or think. He watched, terrified, as before his very eyes, the mark started to _bleed_ , lines of fluctuating blue and gold dripping down and branching out, crawling away from the mark like the roots of a weed.

“W-What?” He squeaked before another wave of torture pulsed from the mark and through his soul’s Core, bringing him to his knees with a cascade of hot tears. As the young Prince hugged himself and trembled in agony, the breeze that had been gently stirring the stalks of grain and the feathers of the angels’ wings rapidly turned from its peace to rage, throwing itself in a whirlwind as it began to swirl around the kneeling angel.

His subordinates both watched the sudden spectacle in horror as they were forced to back away, the whipping wind tearing at the dusty ground and flattening the plant-life around their leader.

Alongside his horror, Demitri’s expression was rife with a deep despair as he came to fully recognize what was happening and its implications. His large halo’s glow dimmed drastically and his weathered wings fell limp to the ground in signs of utter defeat. The elder angel held on tightly to the shoulders of the young female angel as his voice left him in a pleading wheeze of shock and anguish.

“Oh no . . . _Oh Almighty Lord, **no** . . ._” Hearing the older male’s low plea to their Lord over the howling wind, Triss’ head shot up to look at him, her eyes wide with terror and confusion. Her wings fluttered against the wind as her halo flickered and spun spastically in her distress.

“Sir Demitri, what is it?! What’s happening?! **_What’s happening to Sir Abel?!_** ” Triss’ screams went unanswered as Demitri continued to stare at their suffering Prince in a dismal daze. Even her shaking of him received no reaction from him, the ancient angel knowing and lamenting that there was nothing anyone could do now.

The both of them could only watch as Abel hissed and groaned in the dirt of the human road, crying out as his body shook violently with each surge of pain from his rocking Core and the scorching burn spreading across his chest. His whole left arm, spreading from his shoulder down to the tips of his fingers, felt like it was being stuck in an open fire, an experience he knew well from his days as a Forsaken. The angel roughly grabbed hold of his sleeve, right above his leather gauntlet, and violently ripped the cloth from his arm.

The sight had him hyperventilating in terror.

Working their way across his arm were the burning lines of flickering gold and blue, cutting swirling patterns into his skin and even onto his leather armor like tiny channels of molten metal. As beautiful as they might have looked on stone, the lines were horrifying to see upon his living arm, the fresh seeming to be crack open like porcelain in the flows’ wake.

And they burned fiercely, smoldering against his skin like heated metal as they spread. Soon, he felt them snaking down his other arm and traveling down his torso to his legs. Even his wings were falling victim, veins of light running over his cramping flight muscles and fluttering feathers like scattering cracks on glass.

In just a short time, his whole body was covered in glowing cracks, the blazing lines even burning through his sapphire rider’s attire and light armor. Flickering marks traced patterns across the features of his face and ran down into his eyes and mouth. Even his tears and pupils were now filled with burning light, the flaming liquid of blue and gold dipping down his face like blood.

With his body coated in searing patterns, the wind around him still raging and circling began to glow with streaks of blue and white light. Slowly, smoke-like wisps began to branch off from the appearing streams of light, ignoring the rampaging wind as they lazy drifted towards Abel. One by one, the blue wisps of energy met with the lines on the angel’s skin, becoming gold on contact before being absorbed into the cracks.

Abel hunched over as he felt the foreign aura enter his body with a painful spasm of his muscles. His entire body was becoming painfully tense and stiff with each latch of the unnatural smoke, feeling similar to one, giant cramp while being thrown into a bonfire.

It was too much. The pain was akin to some of the worst tortures that Hell itself would offer. It was like some demon had tossed him to the infernal fires of Hell and was pushing him into the coals, a hot poker sinking deeper and deeper into his chest and into his Core.

Hugging himself tightly, he took in stuttering breaths . . . and sobbed. He moaned in agony. He whimpered in fear. He cried out in his confusion and shock, and from the mysterious feeling of loss swirling around in his pounding Core.

And through it all, he called out his bloodsire’s name with each sob.

Crying for his father to help him, for his father to save him.

No matter their previous quarrels or how strained their bond had become, he so needed his father to at least be there with him now.

He was . . . just so scared and in so. Much. PAIN.

And despite the presence of his friends a few feet away . . . he felt so, _so alone_.

He had felt so alone for years now, the long decades of the repressed emotion collapsing all at once on top of him.

A high-pitch whine escaped through his clinched teeth amongst his wrenching sobs.

“D-D-Dad . . . p-ple-ease . . . h-help . . .”

In answer, a loud roar sounded from above.

The eyes of every angel and mortal within the city and beyond shot skyward at the sudden boom of thunder and the growing swirl of clouds forming within a once peaceful, blue sky. Farm hands yelled and screamed as they abandoned their tools and ran for the safety of the barns and ditches, fearful of a spontaneous appearance of a tornado. Those in the city muttered and cried out in surprise and alarm as half their sky was rapidly enveloped in mountainous clouds of flashing lightening, some shouting of terrible omens over the crowds.

The angels among them instead fell silent in the face of the unnatural storm, their laughter and singing dying out under the shrieks of the air and the bizarre swell of angelic power within it. Amid them, the Watchers burst into a hissing hum immediately, their alarm insisting that the angels to take shelter and mobilizing the patrolling archangels into action. The armor of the soaring warriors glinted in the light of the brilliant sun before their colors dulled and darkened under the shadow of the spiraling clouds, the formations of archangels flying straight into storm with narrowed eyes and grim faces.

Oblivious to it all, Abel’s tearful eyes had been clenched shut from the pain, but they snapped open at massive rumble overhead. On instinct, nearly delusional from pain and misery, he rose from his hunched form despite the agony coursing through his body and soul, and looked up with a spark of hope in his glowing, anguished eyes.

The young man had mere milliseconds to see the cyclone above him, his eyes widening at the ominous sight, before a massive streak of white light, bathed in a blue glow, shot down towards him from the swirling center like a splintering crack rupturing the darkening sky.

The enormous bolt of lightning struck him with an earth-shattering crack that split the earth and tore open the sky.

One second.

For one single, endless second, all the damning fires of the Infernal Plains could not compare to the absolute _torture_ that such a strike delivered.

Within that one second, Abel simultaneously felt his wings turn to ash, his skin scorch and split into char, his veins burst, and his very core explode.

Then the second passed and the next began. With its arrival, something clicked in place . . . and banished all the pain from him.

All that was left was nothing . . . nothing but a white eternity, cool and warm, light and heavy at the same time. There was peace, silence, and then a deep whisper. It was a voice, familiar and comforting, that spoke within the nothingness and within Abel himself at the same time. Something warm and tender, not scorching or rough, gently brushed across his hair.

**_I am so . . . so sorry, Abel._ **

_Who’s sorry? Why are you sorry?_

Another brush, weaker this time, but still just as loving. He couldn’t move to lean into it or lean away.

The voice sounded so sad, its tone dripping with a potent mix of sorrow and love.

_Why are you so sad?_

The voice didn’t answer, only continued on with the tremble of a heavy heart.

**_Soar on, my little one . . . my dear son. Your wings are ready, but mine will fly with you . . . always._ **

_Fly to where? Where are we going?_

There was no answer, no more sound.

The blissful second passed too soon, taking with it the peaceful white and the loving voice.

The next second was nothing but black oblivion.

The pillar of light vanished into Abel’s body with a crackle of energy zipping along his body. Without the tremendous energy to fuel them, the circling clouds and harrowing whirlwind dissipated from the air like ghosts in the night, collapsing under the sun’s light. The world continued on, shaken but untouched by the roaring storm, as the Prince’s trembling, undamaged body hit the ground with a clanking thud. The light of day pierced through the parting clouds to shine brilliantly on casts of solid metal and flowing wings, dancing alongside the dozen, golden lights and wisps as they followed Abel’s descent into the dirt.

As he fell to the earth, he never heard the hundreds of angels cry out his name.

_. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ._

_. . . . . . . . . . . . ._

_. . . . . . . . ._

_“‘The phoenix is a legendary bird of golden fire, reborn from the flames and ashes of the death of the previous. A creature of myth, or perhaps a species once lost to Time, now resurges with sightings from across all the nations in our times of war and calamity’ . . . . . hm, what an interesting perceptive of you these mortals have, linking you to such noble creatures . . . wouldn’t you agree, my Supreme?”_

_\- ????, DATE: ????_


	2. Reforged

From within a blanketing void, consciousness began to emerge. Jumbled thoughts and hazy memories that floated in pieces lazily snitched themselves together, the darkness falling away as senses and identity returned as a surfacing presence.

Abel groaned as he was pushed from his slumber, his body twitching as it reconnected with his groggy mind. Slowly coming to his senses, he first registered the feeling of soft cushioning beneath his curling fingers. Then, he noticed the low, melodic hum that flowed through the air around him, familiar and comforting in its tune. Finally, he forced his emerald eyes open, blinking and flinching a bit at the sudden introduction of light where there had been darkness.

After a few blinks, the angel’s eyes adjusted and the light became gentle instead of blinding. No longer pained, his eyes were able to focus on his surroundings, his all-seeing, angelic gaze picking out every detail of the marble-like arches, the large dome ceiling, and the circular opening at its center raining down light upon him. Ornately carved glyphs and swirling patterns trailed from the opening above to the smooth floor below. Within these carvings flowed radiant, holy essence that was being channeled from the Fountain, defying earthly laws as it snaked up and down the arching ceiling and tall walls, and even streamed along disconnected patterns and symbols. Upon meeting the floor, these light-filled grooves turned and ran in straight lines towards the center of the room, the healing energy feeding directly into the cloud-matter of the centered, recovery bed, of which he laid upon.

Over and alongside these trails of the purest water, bunches of leafy, crystal-like vines creeped in and descended from the sides of the ceiling’s opening and along the wall, some hanging from the bright hollow to form a chandelier of circling, vegetative curtains above him. A bright glow radiated from within their stems and into the veins of their leaves, the heavenly plants infused with the waters that flowed along the walls. Never-falling dew sparkled at him from upon the leaves within the falling rays of light.

Abel took in the sight of it all with slow comprehension, his thought process still hazy with sleep. After a moment of staring, listening, and feeling, he noticed another sense, his sense of unity. All around him, his Core was discerning a large number of other souls moving and emoting around his location.

Sorting through these observations, the haze in his head finally retreated and he was able to recognize the room he was examining.

He knew this place. He knew it very well . . . or at least, he knew that he was in one of them.

The multitude of heavenly energies around him. The softness and cupping curve of the cushioned berth. The stone architecture and dangling plant life that gleamed and glowed with light and energy. The low, gentle singing of the very structure around him.

His very first month in Heaven, after so many centuries in Hell, had been spent within such a room, as well as many times after that.

He was back in the Heavens, laying in one of the Medical Abbey’s recovery dens. 

Confusion filled his mind.

“W-Wha . . .”

Why was he in a recovery room . . . and how did he get there?

The young angel tried to think back, to remember what had happened before he had apparently lost consciousness, but all he could recall were hazy images of colorful banners, blooming flowers, a gold field, and then . . . cracks. Cracks of scintillating light rapidly spreading where none should be.

And then pain. Lots and lots of **_PAIN_**.

Frightened, Abel tried anxiously to understand these bits and pieces, attempting to dig out a clearer picture of what had happened to him.

But the more he tried to force the memory, the more of a headache he gave himself.

“Oooooooohhhhhh . . .” Clenching his eyes shut, Abel brought up his hands to press the heels of his palms into them, groaning at the ache and his failure to remember.

That’s when he noticed something was . . . off.

While his arms still moved the same and there was no pain or discomfort from them, the action of raising his arms and bending his wrists and elbows had produced some . . . rather unfamiliar sensations and sounds.

Bewildered by strangle feelings and the faintest sounds of moving metal, Abel reopened his eyes and moved his hands away to look at them.

His eyes shot wide and he choked on his breath. He couldn’t understand what he was seeing.

His fingerless gloves remained, but the leather-like bracers that had once alone protected his forearms were now encased in resplendent armor. Turning his arms this way and that, he took in the armguards’ shining colors and elegant patterns.

Seemingly fused to his bracers, the armor on his forearms were of a deep blue color, shining iridescently in the light like heat-blued steel. Hardened plates and carvings of gold were layered over and around the thick, curved plate, forming a stunning design on each arm of what could have been either a crashing wave or a roaring fire surrounded by golden, swirling borders. The wide top and smaller bottom edges of both armguards curved slightly away from his arm, forming small overhangs like the outward curling lips of rose petals. Much smaller, thinner versions of the armguards were fused to what were once the straps of his bracers, protecting the underside of his forearms as well.

Throwing himself into sitting position, Abel would have continued to stare in amazement at his new bracers . . . if he had not immediately spotted the rest.

The angel was completely flabbergasted to find himself **_covered_** in armor, all similar in design to his armguards. From his knees to the rounded toes of his boots, layered plates of blue, gold-scaled armor were wrapped around his shins and calves, interlocking together to form greaves and poleyns for his legs and the rounded sabatons for his feet. As his wide stare moved up his body, he found his strapped, light-blue-patterned breeches to be untouched, but curled around them were four more pieces of layered armor, the separate cuisses of reflective blue and waving gold protecting the front and back of his thighs from beneath the long, open ends of his blue rider’s vest.

Arms held up on either side of him, Abel frantically looked down at his torso. His long shirt of chainmail still shined from beneath the split in his vest, but his two, leather belts at his waist had been transformed. They were now much bigger, of a richer brown, and hung loosely, but securely, around his hips in a crisscross fashion, encircling a large, golden sash that was tied around his middle. They were also no longer plain, the front-most belt sporting several large, metal disks engraved with what he recognized to be some of the most ancient of angelic markings, the largest and centermost disk carrying the very symbol of his earned bloodline.

Above his new sash and belts, Abel found even more surprises. His mouth hung open at the sight and feel of a blue cuirass encircling his vested chest in interconnected pieces under his tied, unchanged cape, the gold trimming swirling and snaking along the deep blue from the breastplate’s edges and down its center. The gold patterns continued down from the breastplate and onto a conjoining piece of armor that shielded his abdomen.

Eyes traveling backing up his arms from the edges of his new chest armor, the angel found small, rose-petal-curved rerebraces guarding his upper arms and above them . . .

Peeking out from underneath the curtain of his blue-tuned cape, Abel caught a glimpse of a large, single pauldron resting like a protective shell over his shoulder, his previous armor of chained, blue scales nowhere to be seen. Even hidden under his cloak, the astonished angel could make out its basic shape, its curve keeping its water-oak-leaf-shaped edge close to his arm rather than jutting out with a point like his blood-sire’s. Some of the most expressive and impressive arrangements of his armor’s golden layering could be seen gleaming amongst reflective blue from under the cloth, waiting to be revealed in the full light. Abel didn’t have to look, only feel, to know that a matching pauldron was attached to his other shoulder as well.

With disbelief and fascination taking him, Abel reached out a hesitant hand, finding himself drawn to push off his cloak from the pauldron and see the details in full for himself.

But before he could, something caught his eye, something that was also approaching his shoulder.

With a startled yell, Abel fell from the berth in a panic when he spotted the massive flames licking at his back. He scrambled to distance himself, but in his fell, he ended up rolling across the ground and onto his back, where he found himself lying amongst even more golden tongues of fire. The flames starting to whip and flicker wildly as a raging fire, terrifying the boy. The horrifying thought that his wings had been set ablaze nearly ran his mind blank with terror.

Abel was fully prepared to start screaming, his body rolling to get away as unpleasant memories of Hell came to surface . . . but then he stopped, his voice and body freezing in place. Through the panic and the mounting terror, a rational thought managed to pull its way through, slowly coming to calm him down as he took in the facts it presented.

There was no pain. There was no burning, nor the scent of smoke and charring flesh. Not even a crackle or roar was present, and while there was warmth to the flames, it was nowhere near the intense heat expected of a true fire.

Having frozen while on his hands and knees, Abel slowly and shakily pushed himself to his feet, his armor barely making any noise despite his movements. Seeing no fire in front of him, he nervously looked over his shoulder.

There, on either side of him, were the flames . . . or what he thought had been flames. The longer he looked, the more his fear faded and his astounded position returned. Turning in a circle, Abel confirmed to himself what he had begun to understand when the flames stayed behind him without harm.

The flames weren’t of actual fire, nor were they eating at his feathers . . . they _were_ his feathers . . . his wings! Craning his head over his armored shoulder, he hastened to get a better look, nearly spinning in a circle again trying see them in full.

He recognized his wings, still the same, familiar shape and the well-groomed arrangement of feathers, but now they were larger . . . and much fierier. His once soft, pigeon-like feathers were now the individual tongues and forks of the wing-shaped fires that his vans had become. Each “feather” was comparable to a licking flame caught in slow-motion, continuously growing sluggardly from the main bulk of the wing, then gradually dissipating into the air once at its furthest extent. The flaming feathers were also in a slow, constant shift of colors, lazy waves of sunset oranges and creamy whites gradienting and outlining the feathers across an expanse of dazzling gold.

But his flight feathers proved to be the most changed of all. Now much calmer, the once whipping and lashing flames had returned to a gentler, lazier speed. At nearly twice as long as his bird-like flight feathers had been, these flames moved less like fire and more like long stems of seaweed waving in slow-motion upon a gentle current. They moved without his command and flowed completely in sync with each other, all snaking through the air with the same simultaneous movements.

But despite their synchronicity and differences, the lazy drifting of each stream of light was a sight powerfully familiar. To Abel’s awe, his flight feathers seemed to have been replaced with gold-hued, much shorter, more flame-like versions of his blood-sire’s wing tendrils, flowing in sync with each other rather than drifting independently like Daemon’s would.

Both enthralled and fearful, Abel tentatively tried to move his strange, new wings, attempting to fold them. The vans obeyed, the new feel of his flames-for-feathers moving against each other strange and slightly alarming as the feathers licked around each other and some disappeared entirely as they merged with each other. Some of his tendril-like flight feathers also seemed to combine as they became more closely packed together in the folding, but still they drifted of their own accord around his legs, their movements gaining a little speed and their synchrony breaking a bit in response to his uneasiness. 

After a few tests of opening and closing his new wings, watching his flame feathers merge and separate, he finally reached out a hesitant hand to one of his flight feathers. He flinched back when his targeted feather broke rhythm with the others and curved toward his approaching palm. At his flinch, it flung itself away, his whole wing also moving back. It took Abel a few moments to realize that the feathers weren’t moving on their own. He was moving them himself without thinking.

Calming down, he brought the wing forward again reached out, focusing as he brought the individual feather closer as well. The action alone was yet another surprise for Abel. He’d never been able to move individual feathers before, like extra appendages.

At last, Abel ran his fingers over the tendril-like, golden flame, half expecting a familiar sensation.

For the most part, he wasn’t disappointed. It did not burn. It was warm and wispy, just like his father’s “feathers”, and firmly solid despite its fiery appearance. Small streams of glowing energy branched off the sides and ends curled around his hand and fingers, gradually disappearing into the air like smoke.

Looking up to inspect the upper portion of his large wing, he caught a glimpse of his halo and was surprised to find even that had changed. Its previous golden color was now much brighter and of a richer hue to match his wings. Small flickers of flames periodically curled up off of the ring of light in short, quick dances before dispersing into tiny, uplifted embers. He had many times seen Daemon’s halo do something similar, with thin, smoke-like trails of energy rising and curling up off his bright ring of blue light. But while the small flames of Abel’s halo simply flickered out, the small, plasma threads of Daemon’s would quickly circle back and attach themselves to his halo at both ends, each circuit briefly forming small, curling lightening bolt before gradually folding down and remerging with the main ring of his halo. The few times he had seen the angel angered, the bright trails would sharpen and form all along the ring, branching from his halo to form the spearing lines of what looked to be the spikes of a menacing crown of snapping electricity.

A small smile forming on his face, Abel brought his attention back down to his feathers and curved his flaming wing around his side, trying to move more of his flight feathers within his reach. The feathers responded haphazardly, this new function and sense of control still too new and strange for Abel to coordinate effectively, but he managed. Soon, he was running his hand through one of his slow-dancing, golden fires, feeling its soft, silk-thread-like sensations that was a staple of Daemon’s wings upon his own. In turn, he felt the soothing combing of his own fingers through his flame feathers, his sense of wonder growing at being able to feel with the fires of his wing.

“ _Whoa . . ._ ” He breathed out as he continued to comb through the flaring and evaporating petals of slow flicking light, completely fascinated.

However, his small smile faded as he watched the light of his new wings reflect off the gold embellishments and blued steel of his new armor. His remade feathers drifting back behind him and out of his reach as he turned his attention back to his attire.

As impressive as this all was, he couldn’t help feeling a bit . . . unnerved by the sight of the armor.

More questions were starting to spiral around his head, no longer consisting of just why he was here, but also the question of why he was suited up like a high-tier archangel. How and why his wings had been transformed?

With a growing anxiety, different explanations for such questions began to pop into his head, most of them distressing him more and more.

He was certainly dressed for battle, his armor and wings now in similar fashion to that of his father’s and his Uncle Michael’s, great warriors in their own right for thousands of millennia.

What could have happened to prompt someone to armor _him_ in such a way, of all angels?

Demon activity and numbers had been growing drastically over the past century or two, claiming the lives of many mortals and immortals in their ambushes and rampages. But it was nothing that the forces of Heaven hadn’t dealt with before, countless times since The Fall hundreds upon thousands of years ago. In fact, he had heard that these times were nothing compared to some past surges, in which both sides had nearly brought each other to their knees, even ravaging the mortal realm in a war within The War.

_Could that have all changed?_

Did something disastrous happen? Was Heaven no longer safe? Was Earth? Was the situation so dire that every angel had to now be outfitted like this?

Abel’s uneasiness grew as his body tensed.

He remembered . . . the reports of missing angels . . . whole patrols missing without a trace . . . the fear and paranoia that he had tried to calm for decades now . . . the increased number of the arch-guard within the Mortal Realm after he and Daemon . . .

Abel shook his head, trying not to dwell on that last memory. Instead, he tried once more to remember what had happened before he passed out.

_Was . . . was he there, during an attack? Was that why he could remember pain and terror?_

And . . . and what had happened to his wings?! How had they been changed?! The only angels he knew who could change the form of their wings were his uncle Uriel and those of the First Triad, at least beyond a rare increase in size due to a forged blood-bond.

He had to know what was going on. Maybe . . . maybe he should go find Daemon, even if the very thought filled him with such conflicting feelings of longing, excitement, and utter dread. If anyone knew what was happening and why he was like this, it was the reigning overseer of the Third Triad and the Mortal Realm.

Which was just as well. In all his panic and confusion, even with the deep-seated feelings of shame and guilt and time-dulled anger, he still found himself in dire need of his father’s comforting presence and reassuring words.

It certainly didn’t help that he hadn’t seen nor heard from his blood-sire in several decades, a fact that made pushing aside the gloom of the memory of their last interaction difficult.

Abel winced. That had been his fault, he knew. He had reacted poorly at the time and, through an intense argument, had effectively driven Daemon away. He had regretted the outcome almost immediately afterwards and it had not long after that found himself greatly missing his father, but shame at his behavior and words, as well as a guilty wish to leave the old, hardworking angel unbothered in these trying times, had kept him from seeking his adoptive father out over all these mortal years, in person or otherwise.

And the Supreme had obviously not attempted to seek him out either.

He could only hope that that didn’t mean the archangel was still cross with him.

With a nervous gulp but a hopeful eagerness, Abel leaned against the edge of the berth and focused on his Core, ready to use its resonance to search through the host of angelic souls pulsating around him and call out to the Core that shared such a precious bond with his.

However, he had only just begun to investigate the identities of the auras around him when he recognized one very familiar to him . . . and very close by too.

Feeling a wave of relief, Abel’s eyes moved to a section of the room’s wall just before the stony, carved surface collapsed in solidity and form, quickly dissolving into the floor as transparent, swirling clouds.

Abel smiled pleasantly at the angel who stepped through the now open doorway, glad to see a familiar face and hopeful to finally get some answers.

But as Abel’s lips parted to voice a greeting to the archangel, he stopped, his smile dropping just as fast as it had appeared.

General Raphael, High Overseer of Heaven’s Medicinal Division, walked into the room with a dreary air almost palpable to Abel. Clad in cream and pale green colored robes and armor, his own pauldrons and shielding were etched with golden patterns of leafy vines and serpent trails. A gleaming, leaved headdress was wrapped around his head of very long, tied, sandy brown hair that hung between a doubled set of large, tanned wings.

With such a soft but impressive attire, the reigning archangel was usually of a regal and dignified appearance, despite his frequent breaking of said impression with bouts of playful friendliness and an intense eagerness to heal any wound. But any of that strength, or lighthearted nature, was nowhere to be seen in the angel before Abel.

Abel had seen his adoptive uncle in dimmed moods before. Loss of life and the suffering of the injured and dying had always been his greatest enemies, ones he met with a determined seriousness and an unmoving commitment to prevent and remedy. But such a strong devotion to healing and saving meant that any failures in such endeavors were often very hard-hitting to healers such as Raphael. Every form of life that perished under their care was another wound to scar within their extraordinarily strong, persevering Cores. There had been times where loses had been great, for angels or for humans, and Raphael’s disposition would dull, his smile weak and his eyes tainted with trances of woe.

But in all his two thousand years since meeting the angel in his very first months as a Redeemed angel, Abel had **_never_** seen the Angel of the West Wind look so . . . _wounded_.

While there were no signs of physical injuries, the tall angel walked as if he were covered in lesions, weighed down and nearly limping under some invisible aching and pulling. His shoulders were slumped and his stature bowed, his leather-fringed shoulder plates so low as to seem to be slipping off. The angel’s eyes were closed as he moved forward, a hand sliding across his face and through his hair in a tired fashion. In fact, so exhausted did he seem that even his strong, youthful face seemed to have aged greatly, reflecting his long existence now more than ever. His gait was slow and heavy-footed, and both sets of wings hung low and limp against his back, his lowest pair trailing against the floor. Even his halo, a slow-spinning wreath of intertwined, white-gold serpents, seemed to have dropped lower in their usual hover over the angel’s crowned head. Abel could swear that even the light of the insentient snakes was dimmer than usual.

After a few steps into the room, Abel watched as the lead medic’s hand fell away from his face and his eyes opened, looking tiredly to the berth.

Dull, creamy gold eyes were met with a worried pair of striking green, both of their owners freezing in place at the visual connection. After several moments of wide eyes and bated breath, Abel finally managed to find his voice again.

“U-Uncle Raph?” The young Redeemed called out hesitantly with a tone of deep worry. The archangel only responded at first with a few blinks of his slightly sunken eyes, as if he was struggling to process what he was seeing. Then, with a venting of breath, everything about Raphael lifted and brightened.

A relieved smile decorated the angel’s now more relaxed countenance as his posture straightened and his wings rose to settle more solidly against his back and sides. With some brightness returned to his eyes, the older angel responded to his adoptive nephew with welcome solace and a hand over his Core in a gesture of relief.

 ** _“Abel! My boy! I’m so glad to see you awake!”_** The relief and joy in his echoed voice was genuine, Abel could tell, but the young angel was not fooled. The deep somberness was still there, its presence still strong and looming behind Raphael’s seemingly brightened mood and refocused eyes.

Abel tried his best to not let his growing worry and anxiety stop him from giving his elder a pleasant smile, even as his internalized alarm spiked when Raphael made absolutely no move to embrace him or touch him in any way. It was an observation that felt very _wrong_ compared to Raphael’s usual, cuddly behavior towards his “adorable, little nephew.”

“It’s good to see you too, uncle!” Abel exclaimed truthfully, but already his weak smile was crumbling. Raphael had nodded almost absentmindedly to his response before moving away from the entrance, solid stone resealing itself as he did, and walked along the curving wall, not approaching his nephew at all. Abel watched with growing unease as Raphael quickly touched and traced particular symbols and patterns marking the walls, the energy glowing brighter and singing like wine glasses under his touch. Abel easily recognized what he was doing. He was constructing and sending a silent message through the water flows to be received by his instructed locations within and outside the Abbey.

With what he could tell from his old runic lessons, Raphael was reporting his awakening to the Medical Abbey’s central network, instructing the coordinators on the other end to extend the message to his fellow generals and Abel’s friends scattered across Heaven and Earth.

Hoping to grab the angel’s attention again, Abel took a hesitant step toward his elder with hands itching to reach out to him, his voice dripping with fearful concern.

“But um . . . are you alright? You look like you haven’t slept in years, uh, if you don’t mind me saying . . .” His words ended nervously, not at all sure how Raphael would react to the comment in his present state. At the very least, he succeeded in regaining some of the medic’s attention, a tiredness leaking back into his eyes as he glanced back at the fledgling for a moment.

 ** _“Hm? Oh yes. Yes, I’m fine. I’m sorry. Things are just . . . hectic . . . right now. Do not worry.”_** He turned back to his message again. His downtrodden tone and worrying statement sent Abel’s thoughts into another tangle of possible situations, ones that could be considered ‘hectic’ by the elder and cause him to be in such a ragged state. As Raphael began to finish up encoding the last of his message’s recipients, Abel asked the question that was eating away at him.

“Uncle Raph . . . did . . . did something happen?” His voice was now small and uncertain, seemingly reverting back to the shyness in his freshly-redeemed days. Such meek behavior greatly contrasted with the imposing figure he now possessed, with fiery wings and gleaming armor.

Raphael stopped in his traces, the light and song of his touches fading from the room as he turned to simply stare at Abel with an unreadable expression. Ducking his head a bit under the angel’s dull gaze and unnerving behavior, Abel continued on with eyes lowered to inspect his own armed chest and wing tips, very nervous but desperate to have answers.

“And . . . And why am I dressed like Dad? And my wings, how—” Abel’s voice and body froze in place as Raphael silenced him. Even with his eyes turned away from Raphael, Abel didn’t have the see the archangel snap his wings in a lightning-fast flap, only hear and feel the quick burst of wind whip at his face and body. The angelic call for silence had Abel almost instinctively submissive, even though the powerful, loud snap of those wings was of a gentle command for quiet, not an angered one. If done with any real anger or firmness, especially if commanding the silence of many, the wings of such an angel would have resounded with a crack like a tree hit by lightning and heralding a wind like a typhoon.

With Abel silenced, Raphael at last breathed out a reluctant sigh, his hand once again rising to rub at his temple. The medic gave a few more quick strokes to the wall’s carvings before turning back to Abel, speaking to him in a kind voice as he approached with a small smile.

 ** _“I promise that I will answer all of your questions after you have answered all of mine. I have to make sure that you are healthy and uninjured. Now . . . sit back down please.”_** Abel was quick to fulfil Raphael’s request, seating himself on the berth’s edge. Nonetheless, the healer’s words did nothing to ease his worries, only making them worse.

“U-Uninjured? But why would I be injured? Did something happened to—” He began in a frantic voice, but a pointed look from Raphael snapped his mouth shut.

“S-Sorry.” He apologized with a shaky smile. With a gentle shake of his head, Raphael merely smiled back, finally touching him by placing a reassuring hand on the younger’s pauldroned shoulder. The gesture helped calm Abel’s nerves as Raphael began.

 ** _“It is quite alright. Now, do you feel any aches or pains? In your Core or otherwise?”_** Abel recognized this familiar line of questioning immediately. It was a standard check-up, his first experience with it having been with Daemon all those years ago, back when he had stayed with his blood-sire as the angel had slumbered in a healing coma. Abel had been questioned in such a way several times after that, all due to injuries and wounds he had sustained over many years of guardianship of the Sounin province. Oddly enough, the familiar medical procedure, along with his uncle’s presence, helped push back the dark thoughts for the moment, giving him some semblance of normality.

Focusing himself on the feel of his body, Abel checked for any pain.

He found none. In fact, he found the opposite.

“No, actually. I feel . . . good.” No longer distracted by shock and confusion, the transformed angel could now feel and focus on the changes of energies within his body. His accustomed power that flowed beneath his skin had seemingly grown into massive surges, making him feel energized and tingly as it cycled through his form from his flaring Core. He felt abruptly stronger, a feeling that was similar to the sudden power increase he had felt after his redemption.

He felt _powerful_ . . . and looked the part as well.

To his astonishment, he finally took notice of himself beneath all the armor. He had been lean and a bit lanky before, but now his arms, legs, and even his torso were somewhat bigger and more muscular than ever before, nicely accommodating the large pieces of metal surrounding them. While still not as overly muscular as angels like Daemon, Michael, and David, he definitely had surpassed many of his peers in build, most of which favored grace to brawn.

Abel found himself with even more questions with the discovery, but he forced himself to hold his tongue. Instead, he shifted uncomfortably in place as Raphael looked him over, gently pulling at armor from time to time to check their solidity and attachment.

One, sickle-curved, needle claw suddenly darted out from the thin armor plating topping his pointer finger and the rest of his white-clothed hand. He asked his next question as he used the claw to tap at Abel’s rococo breastplate.

 ** _“That’s good, but some pains can be hidden by stillness. So, let’s start with your fingers. Curl them one by one please, then clench your fists.”_** Abel did as he was told, lifting his hands from clenching of the bed’s edge to curl his fingers in Raphael’s line of sight. As he did so, Raphael stopped his tapping and slowly pulled back his hand. Small threads of golden aura followed behind his finger; residue harmlessly drawn forth from Abel’s energy currents by the hook of Raphael’s specialized claw.

The eyes of the snakes making up Raphael’s halo watched Abel as he did his exercise, the serpents’ crystal optics observant to any signs of discomfort on the younger’s expression or any irregularities in the flows and currents of angelic blood visible to their Piercing vision.

Raphael expertly split his attention between the two duties, closely studying the wispy trails curling around his claw while also watching for any reactions from Abel and his body’s circulation.

Using a sight that only angelic healers possessed, the tiny threads of light provided a detailed readout of the patient’s “vitals” for the medic, like a small blood sample that Raphael’s mind could test and evaluate for potential weaknesses and contaminations.

Seeing that Abel had finished his task with no problems, Raphael gave him his next instructions as his golden eyes remained glued to the wisps connecting his claw to his patient’s chest.

 ** _“Now roll your shoulders.”_** The younger obeyed, rolling his shoulders forwards and backwards as he watched Raphael do his routine inspection of his aura. The action was easy and the new armor plating around his shoulders shifted seamlessly with his movements, surprising Abel with their little to no resistance.

Finding Abel’s Core and aura strong and healthy despite the drastic changes, Raphael’s lips relaxed into another smile as he unhooked the wisps from his claw and let them slip back through the solid surface of Abel’s breastplate. His claw retracting back into his glove, the medic backed away to give Abel room, meeting the young one’s eyes with a brighter smile.

 ** _“Very good. Now, stand back up.”_** Abel quickly did as he asked, looking down at his armored boots as they landed firmly on the polished floor, his reinforced legs easily holding his weight. He took a few steps away from berth and toward his uncle, glad to find his balance and stride unhindered by the plating.

Looking back up at Raphael, he returned the medic’s smile with his own, comforted by the sight of his friend’s brightened mood.

That is until the Prince’s eyes narrowed in thought, then flew open with another surge of shock.

“A-Am . . . am I _taller_?!” The young angel exclaimed in utter disbelief.

Indeed, Abel had always been about a head or so shorter than Raphael and Uriel, and the about the same height as Gabriel. Now, as he stood before the Archangel General, he found himself eye-to-eye with his elder, their heights almost even.

Amusement lit the archangel’s wearied eyes for the first time in a long while. He lightly chuckled at Abel’s staggered expression, letting the unauthorized question slide.

 ** _“Hhhhmm, it would seem so! Any weakness?”_** Abel blinked at Raphael’s humored expression, confounded by his easy acceptance of such a change that should have been impossible.

Yet another question to add to the swelling pile for later, he supposed.

Shaking himself out of the shock of yet another unexpected surprise, Abel shook his head no to Raphael’s question, a hand coming up to his head in a gesture of speechlessness. Raphael continued his smile and his light chuckling, patting Abel on the shoulder good-naturedly.

 ** _“Good. This is all good. Now for your wings. Stretch them up and out as far as you can.”_** Abel was still for a few seconds, needing a moment to recover. Then, with a quick, irresolute sigh, the bewildered angel lowered his hand and did as instructed, unfolding his strange wings up and out as much as he could.

His flaming feathers spread out across most of the room’s large diameter before lifting upwards. His wing tips reached up to nearly touch the shimmering ivy dangling from high above, the light of his flames turning the dew of their leaves a glimmering gold. Keeping his wings locked in position, Abel’s gaze followed Raphael as the older angel circled his wide wingspan, patiently studying and testing Abel’s vans with gentle prods and harmless tugs. But as Raphael moved behind him, inspecting his wings’ scapulars and shoulder joints, Abel found his eyes glued to the flaring spread of his wings around him.

Almost spellbound, Abel’s gaze dragged across his vast expanse of feathers, for the first time taking in the full expanse of his new wings. Raised in the air with their wrists nearly touching, his wings and their feathers formed a brilliant arc around him, his covert flames sluggishly licking out from around his head and his flight flames waving back and forth in a synchronized dance.

With his wings spread behind him like the tail of a peacock, Abel had little doubt that he looked like he was standing before a living painting of the sun, the curling flames and tails of his wings warm and bright like a sunset.

 _“Whoa . . .”_ He breathed out, unable to stop a bit of wonder from entering his Core once again.

Raphael chuckled warmly from behind him, running his hand along the lower “muscles” of an energy wing one last time before stepping back, moving around to the other side of the berth behind him. Once at a good distance, he gave his next order with a slight eagerness.

 ** _“Now . . . give them a good beat.”_** At the directive, Abel glanced between his uncle and his wings, apprehension replacing the wonder across his features. But with a deep breath, the young lad turned his head away and once more faced the far wall, Raphael behind him ready to carefully observe the wings’ movements and results.

Lowering his wings from their wide display, Abel slowly pulled them back . . . then threw them forward, trailing like a racing wave of golden fire.

A hot torrent of wind slammed into the wall as Abel’s wings completed their flap, the force of the beat bouncing heated air off the wall and into the large room like a gyre. For several, long seconds, warm gales raced around the room, pulling roughly at the angels and the plant life above. The room was filled with the sound of racing wind and wind chimes as the vines and leaves above whipped and swayed about the sudden wind currents. Then, their startled song and movements calmed and faded with the swift death of the torrents, once again still and completely unharmed by the ripping force.

The force of his own wings was not something Abel had been prepared for. After the initial, hard flap sent him stumbling back into the berth, the massive wings had stayed curled around him, instinctively shielding him from his own onslaught. Once the wind of his single flap vanished, Abel’s head of disheveled brown hair hesitantly rose from beneath his tent of flames, looking around the room with shock and dread. After a moment of frantic eye-darting, he let out a shaky sigh of relief when he found no signs of damage to the room, as he had feared the moment the air had exploded into a roar at the end of his wingbeat. But then, with another ping of fear, he quickly remembered the other angel who had been trapped in the room with the violent storm of his wings.

Quickly spinning around, Abel was surprised and relieved to find Raphael completely unfazed, staring at him with his studious eyes and a small smile. The only sign of disturbance upon him was that of his long, windswept hair, which had previously been hanging behind him, now wrapped around his neck and chest in a haphazardly manner.

Ducking his head back between his cupped wings, Abel give the other angel an embarrassed and apologetic smile.

“Heheh . . . oops.” The older angel chuckled once more as he gathered his thrown-about hair and threw it all over his shoulder to hang down his back once again. Stepping forward and leaning against the tall bedding standing between them, he coaxed Abel out of his fiery shell with a reassuring pat to a wing edge and a calm tone of voice.

 ** _“Do not worry yourself, Abel. I was expecting such a result and no harm has been done. You can fold them back now and we can continue.”_** After a moment of hesitation, Abel straightened up and retracted his wings, the two, golden masses carefully drawing away and folding against his armored back. After attentively watching the feathers and joints move smoothly into place, Raphael gave a nod of approval at the vans’ excellent condition.

 ** _“Very good. Now, on to the mental assessment. Who are you and what is your full title?”_** With one last, cautious glance at his wings, making sure they were tightly folded and not going to cause any more trouble, Abel turned his attention back to Raphael. Instinctively standing at attention, his manners kicked in as he gave his identity with a professional air and practiced ease.

“I am Abelaphel of the Third Triad of the Heavens. I am the Principality over the Sounin region within the Crimson Kingdom of the Mortal Realm. I am Blood-Son to the Supreme of the Third Triad, Daemonathariel.” Raphael nodded in approval at Abel’s appropriate response. Abel would have felt pleased with himself . . . if he hadn’t glimpsed something concerning during his naming.

He could have sworn that he’d seen something flash in Raphael’s eyes as he spoke.

_Something painful._

Abel couldn’t help but wonder why his designation would be something painful.

Maybe he was just seeing things.

 ** _“And your previous occupation?”_** Abel blinked back into focus when the follow-up question interrupted his inquisitive thoughts. Registering the question itself, Abel flinched and his proud stance crumbled as quickly as it had been built, the pain undeniable in his own eyes as dark memories flashed before them. Ease and certainty gone from his voice, Abel responded with a very timid tone, a long lingering shame just behind his words.

“L-Low-level imp demon of the . . . of the Betrayal legion . . . under Lord Belial.” At his humbled response, Raphael nodded once again, but this time with an air of sympathy and a sad smile of apology.

 ** _“I’m sorry, Abel. I had to ask in order to assess your long-term memory. Now, just a few more questions . . .”_** The next inquiries for the young angel were mercifully about facts and events from after his Redemption, ranging from the names of friends and teachers to notable memories between them. With every question, Abel answered truthfully and accurately, the explored memories bringing smiles to both angels.

At last, Raphael’s questioning reached an end and Abel had answered all correctly, to the angel’s relief.

However, there was still one last question. Taking a deep breath, Raphael exhaled through his nose and leaned closer to Abel over the berth. Looking directly into Abel’s eyes with a gaze far more intense than before, the medical angel gave his final inquiry, the gravity of it made obvious.

 ** _“This is my last question . . . what do you remember of the time before you lost consciousness?”_** Under the archangel’s heavy stare, Abel shrank into his shoulders a bit, lowering his gaze to the cloud-formed padding of the bed. Raphael backed off a bit at the young angel’s discomfort, straightening up to stand patiently on the other side of the berth.

Given some room to breathe, Abel stared down at the surface of the recovery bed as he once again tried to dig up the memories.

“Well, I . . . um . . . I was . . .” Eyes narrowing, he focused on expanding the bits and pieces he had, all the while hoping that this attempt wouldn’t end in failure and the threat of a headache again. Hazy images of a bright blue sky, golden fields, and swarming cracks of light swam like darting, little fish in his mind, visible and flashing for a moment before fleeing into cloudy depths at his approach.

He mentally grabbed at them, desperate to see what they were in full. As he did so, the dark void around the images began to steadily recede.

Colorful banners? Banners and . . . wreaths. Hand-made lights and stalls of craftsmanship. Talk and laughter. Planning. A party. A festival! The Festival of Heaven!

And blooming flowers. For . . . for aesthetic. He . . . he had wanted them spread across the parish, especially where there were bare areas towards the fields.

The fields . . .

“It’s all blurry, but I think I was . . . in a field? Yeah . . . walking by one of the fields. A wheat field. I was . . .” He determinedly picked away at the memory, the pieces at last coming together as some of the holes and blanks were slowly peeled away.

Yes, he had been walking next to a wheat field, within his parish’s expansive territory. But it was not just a leisurely walk. No . . . he had had company and was talking with them, making plans.

“I was talking with . . .”

Who was it? They had been talking about the festival . . . and flowers. He was happy with them. Things were going well.

Then . . . pain. Dread. Pain. Loss. Then _more pain._ _Searing agony._

The cracks. The cracks of light racing across the surface of something, shifting between blue and gold.

More pain. More terror. Endless sobs and tears.

But after that, there was nothing but those faint glimpses of suffering. A thick, black fog was blocking out all other details of the events that followed, sealing away what had happened that brought him here. It stayed permanent and strong, no matter how hard he tried to see past it.

“I-I was with . . .” However, there were still the memories of before the pain, of walking in peace with his fellow angels.

Angels . . . his angels . . . friends . . . FRIENDS!

Abel’s head shot up in sudden fear and dread, his wings flaring behind him as his memories burst into clarity. Such memories included the identities of companions, and that knowledge mixed in with the memory of pain was quick to send the angel into a panic.

“Demitri and Triss! Are they alright?! A-A-And are the others okay?! And the parish?! Were we attacked?!” Clenching hard at the berth’s soft cushioning, Abel looked imploringly at Raphael as he fired question after frightened question, the air around him beginning to stir and whip with aggravated energy. All the dreadful possibilities he had thought of before came crashing back into his mind, his body trembling and Core pounding at the thought of devastation meeting his treasured community of angels and humans.

The general was around the berth and at his side in an instant, grabbing the lad’s pauldrons and gently pulling him from the berth to hold him steady. He spoke in a pacifying manner, voice soothing and quick.

 ** _“Abel! Abel! Calm! Calm yourself! There wasn’t an attack! They are all very much alive and well!”_** Abel’s wide, frightened eyes stared into Raphael’s, his frazzled mind taking a long moment to comprehend his elder’s words. Gradually, the frantic beating and flaring of Core and wings began to slow, the news relieving him of his fearful premonitions.

Raphael’s smile was kind and his voice honest as his upper wings reached out and brushed against Abel’s in a gesture of comfort.

 ** _“No one has been in any danger. Your people are safe. In fact, your second and third have been taking good care of them in your stead for the past mortal week or so.”_** A great, long sigh of relief left Abel as he sagged under Raphael’s touch, a small smile returning as he relished in the report of their safety.

Only, his brief elation slipped and he looked back at his uncle with fear and disbelief still clinging to his countenance.

“W-Wait, wait . . . a week? I-I’ve been asleep . . . for over a week?” The question was not an unfounded one. Eternal beings could be awake for months of human time, but only had to sleep for a full day or two between them.

Angels slept for longer only when injured. The longer the sleep, the worse the damage.

The medic stared at Abel for a moment before giving him a single nod, his smile slipping away. Slowly, he removed his hands and wings from the younger angel, giving him more space now that he no longer shook with terror.

Without a single blink, the two angels stared at each other, one gaze searching and the other waiting.

Finally, the long-awaited question was whispered between them.

“Uncle Raph . . . what happened to me?”

Raphael remained silent for some time as Abel’s words seemed to echo around the room. In his silence, whatever pieces of his light nature that had reemerged during Abel’s check-up steadily vanished once more beneath the exhaustion and seriousness that he had possessed upon first entering the room.

Then, with his voice reflecting the emotional change, he answered with almost a whisper.

**_“You Ascended.”_ **

In another time, such a statement would have sounded like a good thing, but the raw edge in Raphael’s voice unsettled Abel.

“Ascended?” The younger asked in confusion, tilting his head a bit as he brought his hands together in a nervous gesture.

Raphael nodded, raising his hand to tap on the metal of Abel’s armguard in emphasis.

 ** _“You may remember pain, yes? That pain was you growing into the full potential of your bloodline. You have now inherited the full power of a high archangel and so, your form has reconfigured itself to reflect and contain that power.”_** Abel’s eyes darted down to his arms at Raphael’s tapping. Seeing his armor in a new light, Abel once again looked himself over from his arms to the rest, his fear of his armor’s implications finally put to rest by Raphael’s answer.

That was some relief at least. It seemed that there was no dangerous circumstance that had required his armoring. From what he could tell, it sounded more like a growth spurt than an outfitting, which would better explain his wings and the added height and muscle structure. The thought turned his armor into even more of a marvel in his eyes, but the awkwardness of _HIM_ possessing such a thing dug at him.

“Oh . . . but, um . . . can I take this armor off?” He couldn’t help but ask. As majestic and impressive as this armor was, he had never been able to quite picture himself in heavy armor. The lightest of armor had always been more his taste.

He gently pulled at one of his metal bracers, looking for some sort of straps or release. However, Raphael gently grabbed his hand and pulled it away from the protective plate, shaking his head.

 ** _“No. This armor is a part of you, grown from your very own Core. It cannot be removed, nor the cloth that has now merged with your body.”_** Abel looked back up at him, not quite sure how he felt about the news of his armor being permanent.

“Oh . . .” It was all he could say, still a bit dumbstruck by all this knowledge. All he could do was watch as Raphael gave him the briefest of nods before abruptly turning away, moving back towards the surrounding wall to report his findings.

Abel frowned at his uncle’s back as the angel touched the wall to begin another message, confused by his behavior throughout this visit.

While the idea of growing permanent armor and flaming wings filled Abel with conflicting feelings, he couldn’t understand why such a change to himself would impact Raphael so negatively. Wasn’t this natural, maybe even a good thing? Shouldn’t he be at least a little enthusiastic about this, given his usual, gushing behavior around his nephew?

But no. Not a single smile nor brightness had entered Raphael’s expression as he had explained Abel’s “ascension”, speaking the words as if the change was more an affliction than an evolution. Even now, stepped away and with his back turned, a tense air had surrounded the usually merry archangel, completely out of place.

So, being the kind-cored angel that he was, Abel felt like he couldn’t let Raphael stay stuck in such a state. Not his happy, fawning uncle.

So, Abel took a few steps after Raphael, a smile pushing at his cheeks as he made a playful show of looking over his decorated pauldrons and chest plate again. He laughed full-heartily as he spoke, already imagining how his friends and father figure were going to react to his new look.

“Heh, well, at least this means I don’t have to wear cloud armor when I ambush Dad anymore!” Abel’s grin was wide and shining, fully presented for whenever Raphael would turn to look at him. He giggled a bit, confident that he would have Raphael cheered up in no time with a bit of humor and friendly barter.

It had worked plenty of times before.

But the friendly angel did not receive the familiar, amused response, no snorting laughter or mischievous suggestions. Instead, the older angel reacted as if Abel had physically struck him, hard. Abel’s playful thoughts screeched to a halt as Raphael’s whole being violently froze before his eyes, a choking noise sounding from behind the elder’s wings. Then, to Abel’s great confusion and dismay, Raphael slowly lowered his head to the wall before him, his lightly-shaking wing sets curling around him as if to hide him from the world. The whole reaction screamed of despair.

Alarmed and distressed by such a bad response to his seemingly harmless words, Abel approached with a hand reaching out, anxious to fix whatever he had done wrong. But he stopped a few feet away, unsure if he should touch the archangel. Instead, he nervously called to his flinching uncle.

“Raphael?” At his name, Abel heard and saw Raphael take a deep, shuttering breath, his whole body shaking a bit from the unsteady action. A moment of silence followed, then Raphael turn his head to the side, not enough for Abel to see much of his face, but enough to make him more easily heard from within his shell of feathers and stone.

 ** _“A-Abel . . . your . . . your Ascension . . . it wasn’t a random occurrence . . . n-nor a result of your growth. Something . . . did happen to make this so.”_** When he spoke, there was a painful struggle in his voice, his words broken up like a grave secret being forced out. Dread sprouted in Abel’s Core and his flames bristled at the ominous air filling the room.

 ** _“You remember your Redemption, correct? And how a blood-bond is formed?”_** After a moment, Abel hesitantly nodded his head, answering with a voice dripping with unease and uncertainty.

“Y-Yes, I do.” At his answer, Raphael’s hands curled into fists against the singing wall, the metal upon them scrapping harshly against the stone. He turned his head back to the wall and took another shaky breath before continuing.

 ** _“When you were redeemed, Daemon did not only give his blood to cleanse and repair your own. You became a Principality not because of the lineage of your bloodline, but because of the power that had been gifted to you, of Daemon’s own design. He gave you a piece of himself, a piece that was reforged within your Core to become your own.”_** Abel’s confusion persisted. He knew this. He had known this for a long time and Raphael knew that. There was no need to explain this to him again.

Unless . . .

Abel’s dread rose, dark thoughts and pretenses creeping back in.

Raphael’s forehead softly hit the wall as he spoke in a low, tired whisper tinged with sadness.

 ** _“And now . . . he has given all to you.”_** The moment he processed Raphael’s words, Abel’s mind went blank, stalling at the possible implications of such a statement. Those words, wrapped in the dark gloom of Raphael’s soft voice, echoed loudly within his stilled mind, filling it with vicious screams that Abel was unprepared to understand.

“W-What . . . w-what d-do you mean?” He didn’t mean to speak. He barely noticed that he had spoken as a sense of disconnection started to form. It was like he was suddenly being pushed out of his body and everything around them was fading into a void until all he could see was Raphael’s trembling back, and all he could feel was a creeping, numbing cold filling his body, turning his Core and veins into ice. Even the warmth of his sun-blessed wings seemed to extinguish under the icy terror that was burrowing through his chest like a thorny weed, spawned from the words’ terrible meanings heralded by Raphael’s air of despair.

A flash in his mind. An image of Daemon . . . bleeding out on the ground after he had granted Abel his Redemption.

_‘He gave you a piece of himself . . . and now . . . he has given all to you.’_

Abel started to shake in place as Raphael took in another quivering inhale, now leaning his shoulder heavily against the wall as his fragile façade began to break. The general gritted his teeth as he forced himself to say the words. He had always hated this part of his duties . . . but this time . . . it was so much **_worse_**.

 ** _“There . . . there was a great battle . . . all across Purgatory . . . and it ended on the day you Ascended.”_** His words, whispered and weak, thundered around Abel like the roar of a terrible demon, hunting for the weak, freshly-Fallen imp that was hidden terrified from its sight. Abel felt the cold fear squeeze hard at his Core, making it hard to breathe, hard to think.

_‘There . . . there was a battle . . .’_

Another flash. A memory of Daemon coming home with armor covered in claw marks, his throat nearly slit, and his forearm nearly hacked off.

He had been the lucky one that time.

The angel’s trembling increased to rattle his armor as he shook his head in denial, backing away from Raphael with panicked breathing. And yet, his petrified eyes were unable to look away from the somber archangel standing limp against the wall.

_No . . . no, it can’t be . . ._

**_“We prevailed . . . but at a heavy cost. We lost so many angels . . . .”_ **

His thoughts were racing, random and discombobulated. Dark whispers plagued his thoughts, hissing of what this all meant, but he frantically pushed them away, denying them any belief.

_‘. . . your Ascension . . . wasn’t a random occurrence . . . We lost so many angels . . . .’_

But the archangel’s words continued to echo through his thoughts, pushing back and driving away any other conclusions. And with those words came a horrendous clarity, a sudden connection freezing Abel in place with stopped breath.

Slowly, Abel’s gaze fell to his hands, which trembled as he held them up to see. Horrified realization spread across his face as he watched the fine armor gleam in the light, their stolen origins now made clear as Raphael’s previous words rang through his mind as dark omens.

_‘. . . reforged within your Core to become your own.’_

White and blue armor flashed across his vision, the large, spiked bracers shining in the light as strong arms reached out to help him up after a particularly hard fall in training. The deep, rich chuckle that echoed from the memory, with a touch of warm, blue lights wrapping around his arm, sent a jolt of pain through his Core.

Flashes of wings as bright and as warm as what now shivered and burned against his back.

Lost in a downward spiral, Abel barely noticed the fat, glittering drops hitting the rattling metal as he frantically tried to fight these horrible thoughts.

_S-Stop it. Stop it! It’s not possible! T-This isn’t . . . This doesn’t mean . . .!_

**_“And Daemon . . . he . . .”_ **

_He can’t be . . .!_

A final flash. Daemon standing before him, his sky-blue eyes wide with hurt.

Then closing in acceptance.

_No . . . no please! No no no no no . . .!_

Finally, Raphael turned around and Abel looked up.

_PLEASE!_

Their tortured gazes met with a deafening silence, dulled gold locking with flooded green as the world of existence came to a standstill. The old angel looked directly into Abel’s crying eyes with an expression filled with so much regret and sorrow, his mighty wings drifting limp to the floor in surrender.

Just the look in his uncle’s pale eyes, soaked with tremendous grief and sympathy, erased all doubts.

Abel felt his very Core crack . . .

**_“Abel . . . I’m . . . I’m so, so sorry . . .”_ **

Then shatter.

_. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ._

_. . . . . . . . . . . . ._

_. . . . . . . . ._

_“They say that our Bonds-By-Blood are the only bonds in Creation with the potential to conceive a Love so strong, it can rival the very Love of Our Lord, the purest and most powerful force that gave birth to Creation._

_Truthfully, there are similarities. As all of Creation are of His blood, we are all blood-bound to The Lord, and Him to us. However, we, His Children, have proven ourselves lax in our bonds and many of us have strayed or cut our bonds entirely from Him time and time again. Every day, beings scoff and sneer at the unconditional Love of His Bond, clawing to cut the tie, and every fight brings the possibility of more souls and Cores disappearing from Creation, their beings utterly destroyed until all that is left in all of existence. . . are of Our Lord’s memories alone._

_And so, I cannot help but ponder, as The Lord’s presence grows more and more elusive even to us, his Heavenly Host._

_Does Our Lord sit upon the throne that we so loyally maintain and writhe in torment, chained within a Hell far worse than that that burns hot and screaming across the Purgatory?_

_Has Our Lord been driven silent with madness?_

_For how could even a God bear the pain of an eternity of severed bonds of Love . . . . when one broken bond alone bears the agony of everything lost?”_

_\- ????, DATE: ????_


	3. Ascend

Everything had been perfect once.

_Fly._

Flawed . . . but perfect.

_Fly._

He had soared.

He had soared high above it all, with the strength and confidence to sail ever onwards forever.

And now . . . he was falling again.

_You have to fly._

His wings could no longer chase the wild winds, could no longer lift him high above into the freeing air.

His wings, both his and yet not his own, refused to catch him, rippling around him like the tail of a falling star.

He was burning again . . .

He was falling again . . .

And he both knew and knew not why.

_FLY._

It was raining, trailing drops falling through the air with him, and yet the skies were full of light and beauty, not a speck of darkening grey or lurking black to be found among the dazzling blues, whites, and golds.

It was cold, all comfort and warmth gone from him . . . and yet he trailed fire in his wake as he fell between warm, towering structures among the clouds, their surfaces glittering in the suns’ blazing light within a sea of galaxies draped in the blue veil of the heavenly sky.

And he felt so . . . so alone . . . despite his numerous fellows drifting gracefully upon the winds around him as he descended further and further down.

An unescapable cage had slammed shut around him, crushing out all hope of freedom . . . and yet he remained unbound and free.

Free to continue plummeting through the open air.

_FLY!_

His large wings suddenly spread themselves wide behind his back, one springing back and the other coming forth in a sudden, desperate flip. With a dizzying whirl and a thunderous snap, the force of the move rolled him over, setting him right upon the bellowing wind of the fall. Then in an instant, he forced his wings into a frenzy of powerful beats, his eyes wide and panicked as his wings fought to reverse the fall of his heavy body.

His descent slowed and his flight sloped out of its vertical drop, sending him sailing forward.

And yet he continued to fall, continued to lose altitude and balance. He sobbed as his vans pushed fiercely against the wind streams, the act of flight once such an ease now a distressing struggle.

His breathing was quick and harsh. His eyes were stinging with cold and wet. The arms of his wings were beginning to burn and ache, and his Core . . . his Core felt like a hollow, jagged thing, thrown around within his chest with a piece breaking off with each failing push of his vans.

_KEEP FLYING._

He cried out in frustration and shock as his feathers’ balance failed once again, sending him slamming into one of the elegant spires of an archway he had tried to overtake. His armored body took the blow easily, saving him the pain of the collision, but the force of the hit had said armor screeching against the hardened, marble-like architecture. Pieces of the delicately carved archway, along with lengths of softly glowing ivy, flew off in an explosion of debris. His golden wings beat frantically against the stone as his hands and armored feet clawed at its patterns, ridges, and newly-formed cracks, feeling for a moment the warm power of the structure flickering under his hands from the damage before he was ripped away by his own momentum.

Once again, he was flipping through the air in another vertical plunge, wings and arms flailing as the falling, broken pieces of the shining arch evaporated into mist around him.

He cried out in anguish as he once more fought to right himself, only to yelp and hiss as he passed through a layer of cloud and slammed into another building’s steep rooftop. His body rolled across the sharp-scaled tiles and soon dropped off the roof’s edge with a flying clatter of cloud-forged shingles. His wings instinctively spun him around in an instant to sail forward again, once more wobbling in the air like an injured dove as Abel’s head spun.

Waterfalls of tears ran down his cheeks as he sobbed, his mighty, faltering wings barely able to keep him aloft.

Never before had the pleasurable act of flight been so torturous, so difficult and futile in his efforts.

His once trusted wings were now proving traitorous in his plight, the air seeming to pass right through their new fiery form with no regard for his strenuous efforts or his growing misery and pain.

_YOU HAVE TO KEEP FLYING._

He was _trying._

He was trying so hard. Even as he continued to lose height and balance again and again, grazing buildings, dodging other flyers, and crashing through clouds and veils alike, he couldn’t bring himself to stop trying.

_YOU HAVE TO KEEP GOING._

He kept going . . . and it felt like drowning. His face was cold and wet, his chest ached and heaved, and his body sank further and further from the glittering, colorful realm of light that had once welcomed him home.

There was a roar in his ears, blocking out every other sound like a fearsome storm.

A roar of screeching, racing wind, pushing and pulling at his battered body and failing wings.

A roar of his own voice screaming from deep within.

_FIND HIM._

A flock of his own kind scattered to avoid his erratic path, their variety of beautiful wings effortlessly carrying them out of harm’s way while his continued to thrash in the air in a mad, desperate frenzy. He tore past them within seconds, their wide eyes following him as he crashed through the golden trees that had been behind them. The trees’ leaves scattered into the air as an explosion of lights, like fireworks and fireflies, before slowly disappearing like dying embers as he passed.

He continued on, heedless of the damage he had caused and of the shocked gazes and worried calls that followed after him. He only stared straight ahead and gave chase, his unfocused eyes locked on something that no one could see.

And in truth, neither could he.

And that fact hurt him so.

_YOU HAVE TO FIND HIM._

He didn’t know where he was going.

He didn’t know what he was doing.

He didn’t know what he was _going_ to do.

He just had to.

_YOU HAVE TO._

He had to find him.

He couldn’t stop until he reached him and found him safe and sound.

Not until he heard his warm voice calling out to him and saw his gentle smile beaming down at him once again.

Even as he trembled and tumbled through the air on wings too large and too strange, even as his Core screamed and ached behind his gold and sapphire armor, he reached out with his soul, focusing desperately on following the bond that had been with him since the day it had freed him from Hell’s crushing grasp.

But the more he searched, reaching for that connection with all his being, the more emptiness he found.

No warmth. No answer.

The pure emptiness was like icy shards digging straight into his very center; cold, dark, and sharp. The throbbing pain and maddening desperation that came with it was blinding, filling him with nothing but the screaming desire to find what he had lost.

His wings pumped themselves to the limit against the dragging winds as all else blurred around him, his mind and Core lunging madly out for any indication of the angel . . . any sign or thread of his embracing presence.

He found nothing.

Nothing, nothing, _nothing, NOTHING . . ._

_YOU HAVE T—_

**_“ABEL!”_ **

Something slammed into him from above, knocking him out of his pitiful flight with force enough to stun and throw him off-course, but not harm him. Frozen in shock and terror from the surprise blow, he did not resist when he felt strong arms wrap around him, pinning his arms to his sides and restricting the movement of his wings. Two sets of long, light-tanned wings beat against the wind at his sides, back and forth with the sound of drums, as their owner swiftly twirled them both out of the way of a fast-approaching tower, several angels tense upon its ledges at seeing the flaming angel barreling towards them. Some now hovered in the air around the tower’s platforms and waterfalls with wide eyes, having jumped from their place in the small gathering to avoid the collision that might have been.

The world spun around Abel as he remained frozen in the hold of the other, his mind slow and limping in its efforts to catch up with what was happening.

Then at last, the world slowed and stilled from its violent spins and throws, and he soon felt solid ground beneath his feet. He vaguely recognized that he now stood upon an ornate balcony flanked by weeping-willow-like trees, drops of water from this tower’s iridescent waterfalls slowly dripping down through the air from the trees’ hanging, glowing branches like drifting dust.

It was all he could do to keep from swaying and collapsing to his knees in that moment, leaning heavily back against the one who had delivered him from his horrid flight.

But as much as the resting reprieve should have calmed and comforted him, it did not. Instead, it sent his dread and desperation mounting ever higher. He soon found himself pulling away from his rescuer, ready to tear himself from the hold placed upon him and thrust himself back into hazardous flight once again.

He couldn’t afford to stop.

_It hurt so much worse to stop._

But before he had the chance to put up a decent struggle against the iron grip that held him still, he was quickly spun around, bringing him face-to-face with the other angel’s wide, glowing eyes and gritted teeth.

**_“Lord on High, Abel! What do you think you’re doing?!”_ **

Abel flinched at his uncle’s loud, astonished voice and the distressed, white glow of his eyes. He only had time to open his mouth to gape at the healer like a fish before the older angel set upon him again, his hands locked on the younger’s shoulder plates to deny any escape as he continued to exclaim in a state of frantic, astonished worry.

**_“You cannot just go tearing out of the Abbey like that! On wings reforged and untested no less!”_ **

Raphael’s blood was still racing wildly from the frantic chase, his body tense, his breathing rushed, and his wings still raised and bristling at his sides.

Immediate panic had cut through Raphael’s grief like a knife when the young angel, previously frozen in the brief silence that had followed the elder’s earth-shattering words, had suddenly become a darting blur of blue metal and golden fire, barely giving the room’s doorway time to evaporate before tearing straight out of the recovery den with a burst of flame and steam. The shock of Abel’s abrupt exit had frozen the elder in place for a mere moment, the angel staring wide-eyed at the aftermath of Abel’s passage, before the sound of crashing and yelling had the healer racing out of the room after him. The piercing panic had stayed with Raphael as he had chased the fleeing angel through the Abbey, screaming for Abel to stop as the young angel had wildly crashed through halls and occupants alike in panicked search of any sort of escape.

In the end, Raphael had caught up to him too late as his distraught nephew finally found his exit, sending the healer’s panic skyrocketing when the young angel had immediately launched himself from the platform, wings spread wide . . . only to fall through the air like a tumbling ember.

Even now, with the boy secure in his grasp after such a chase through the sky, Raphael’s fear over Abel’s stunt remained as his gaze darted all across Abel’s body, searching for any visible injuries.

**_“You could have seriously injured yourself!”_ **

Raphael shook his head in disbelief, a thousand, various ways in which Abel could have been harmed coursing through his mind like a mad river. It was with some relief that he found no physical injuries upon him, beyond that of a few scuffs to his armor.

And yet, he still found himself uneasy, causing him to habitually continue his reprimand as the jeweled eyes of his halo began to search for any internal wounds that may be hidden from view.

**_“You could have—!”_ **

His worried scolding was cut short with a choking breath, his eyes widening as he froze in shocked alarm. The glittering eyes of his haloing serpents were staring down at the center of Abel’s chest, Raphael’s incorporeal vision locked upon a worrying sight.

Abel’s Core, so shortly before a flowing center pulsing strongly with golden light and life, was now worryingly dimmer and quieter in its pulsing song, its call fluctuating weakly within the healer’s spiritual perception. He watched with growing concern its scattered beating, and felt with a deepening sadness the painful, broken aura that surrounded it like a sickness.

When all pairs of Raphael’s eyes finally rose from the sight of the dimming Core, the archangel was met with a far sadder sight, a sight he had previously failed to notice in his due alarm.

Raphael could easily recall Abel’s face before the angel had fled the Abbey, how his tearful expression had been filled with horror and despair at his uncle’s terrible news. But now, while his expression was still one of streaming tears and hollowing despair, there was something far more . . . broken there, far more shattered within his very gaze. Those green eyes were wide and frightened as they stared back at him, but within them, Raphael could plainly see how clouded and dark they were becoming, nearly unseeing. So dim and so lost.

Raphael felt his own Core tremble in a sorrowful song.

He knew that look. He knew that deadened gaze like a dreadful, age-old enemy, and it sent a deep, stinging ache straight through his soul at see it upon the once sweet, bright, and passionate Abel.

“I . . . I-I-I . . .” Raphael nearly flinched when Abel finally made his weak attempt to speak, his voice already low and breaking as his wide eyes stared into his uncle’s. The archangel watched in helpless pity as Abel slowly lowered his murky gaze from his, the younger’s body beginning to shake under the elder’s hands.

“I-I-I have t-to. I . . . I-I c-can’t . . . I need t-to . . . H-He . . .” Raphael could only listen in silence as the words tumbled from Abel’s quivering mouth like the whimperings of a forgotten child, useless and incomplete as he struggled to pull together his shattered thoughts from amongst the clouds of pain.

His trembling strengthened beneath his uncle’s hands as faint whimpers and sniffles bubbled from Abel’s throat. Rife with concern, Raphael instinctively moved to speak, and yet stumbled on what to say. No words that came to his fast-paced mind felt good enough, and far too many felt like boldfaced lies.

Never before had words of comfort been so difficult to deliver for the master medic.

Suddenly, Abel took in a deep, shuddering breath, his shivering stilling to a degree, before he rose his gaze to Raphael’s once more. His emerald eyes met his uncle’s somewhat clearer now, but the added clarity only made the pain and misery within them all the more apparent.

 _“W-Where is he?”_ This time, Raphael could not prevent his flinch, sorrow striking through him and breaking his Core at the sound of Abel’s begging whimper and his young, tormented face streaming with tears. He stared down into his dear nephew’s crippling expression, his Core twisting as he struggled to say something. Anything. Anything that could be of some form of comfort.

The poor boy was asking for his father, begging for him. Maybe . . . maybe he . . .

He clenched his teeth.

No. He could not. The only comfort he could provide was something he could not give. The decision had been made and Raphael was expected to honor it . . . no matter how much he disagreed.

 ** _“Abel . . .”_** The elder began, his echoing voice filled with guilt and exasperation as he searched for some way to answer. He tried to continue, to explain why he could not give what Abel sought, but another pained whimper stopped him.

“Please . . .” Abel’s teeth clenched and his shoulders rose, his shaking becoming worse than ever before as he fought to keep himself together. His uncle blinked and watched in further dismay as Abel once again broke eye-contact, his bangs covering his eyes again as he begged once again in building misery.

“P-Ple-ease . . .” Raphael’s Core _wretched_ at the utter _brokenness_ within the single, strangled plea, the younger’s tears dripping faster to the stone platform from behind ruffled hair and drooping halo. He soon began curl in on himself as his hands slowly rose to hug himself close.

And then, with Abel letting out small, pitiful, hiccups through his tears, Raphael couldn’t take it anymore.

The medicinal Archangel General did always prefer actions over words.

The freckled angel’s next whimper became a gasp as the hands latched to his arms suddenly yanked him forward, sending him crashing into his uncle’s robed chest. Before he could react, Raphael’s hands quickly wrapped around him to pull him tightly into a comforting hug. His two pairs of long wings encircled them both in a blanket of tan feathers, pulling in behind Abel’s own bristling pair to completely surround him.

Raphael closed his eyes as Abel froze in his arms, his shaking paused and breathing stopped, but the tears still flowed. Then, within moments, the gold-winged angel’s moment of stunned stillness broke and his trembling began anew, his hands moving to clench at his honorary uncle’s front as he buried his face in the medic’s shoulder.

Raphael just held him tighter as the whimpers came again, the young man’s arms soon coming to wrap around his uncle in his own tight hug. The pair stood there upon the beautiful, towering platform among the Heavens for several minutes. The older comforted the younger as best he could with gentle rubs and hushing whispers, while the younger clung tightly to him, desperately fighting to hold on to whatever hope and stability he had left as he quivered and mewled.

It hurt Raphael so much to see his nephew in such a state. To feel him struggling to keep himself together within his embrace and feel the terrified dread and painful grief rolling from his Core in waves to crash against his grieving own.

The medic could barely keep his own grief from resurging within this sorrowful moment, barely keeping his own tears from flowing once again.

This was his fault. So much of it was.

A part of himself, even with knowing that it had been unavoidable, hissed that Abel would not be in such a state if Raphael had said nothing. The boy had been somewhat cheerful before his own uncle had cruelly thrown his cheerfulness into the void with the news of his father’s fate.

Raphael knew that the thought was unfair to himself, but feeling of the trembling, anguished angel in his arms firmly placed the blame within his Core, unmovable.

And behind that needless blame, there was a far more pitted regret.

If he had not held his tongue over the last few decades . . . if he or any of his brothers had simply gone against their leader’s wishes and spoken to Abel about his sire’s deteriorating condition, this tragedy might have been avoided. They would still have their Supreme, their brother . . . and Abel would still have his father.

For the hundredth time, the medic mentally scolded himself with hot anger and shame.

Raphael had known that his commander had been in poor health towards the end of that battle, had _known_ that he had exhausted himself physically and mentally beforehand over countless fights and inner turmoils throughout this great, demonic resurgence.

And he had known, because of this, that Daemon had become a prime target for the Demon Lords.

And yet, despite this knowledge, he had foolishly left his brother’s side upon that battlefield . . . and now they were all paying the price for his negligence.

All the grief and shame he had been pushing aside for his duties in the recovery and leadership of those who remained was bubbling to the surface as he hugged Abel closer. Raphael allowed himself one tear, just one for the loss of his brother and the pain of his nephew. For now, that was all he could afford to escape from the deepening ocean of heartbreak that threatened to crash over him. Until his brethren were healed, their defenses restored, and his nephew needed him no longer, he could not allow himself the time to properly mourn.

And so, with painful resolve, he pushed the tide away, steeling himself to his own agony. As a healer, the suffering of others always came first . . . and none more so than that of his brother’s precious child.

A child crying and begging for his father.

His whole being screamed for him to make this right, but he knew no medical treatment or any number of core-felt hugs could ever mend this wound on them all, most of all on Abel. Yet still, the urge to help and heal the boy in his arms in any way he could compelled him so, so much that he couldn’t help but reconsider the Prince’s request.

The archangel felt a war raging in his thoughts and in his Core, his desperate desire to help battling with his obligation to abstain.

He knew what could happen if he did this for Abel, what it could mean for all of them if he allowed it.

But . . . all Abel wanted was to see the angel that had cared so much for him . . . and this may just be his last chance to do so.

Abel didn’t deserve this . . . and he didn’t deserve to have his final goodbye taken from him so cruelly. Not after what had already been torn away from him . . . and all the burdens that were now suddenly his to bear.

As such thoughts flooded in, as he tightly held the quivering angel who still whispered pleas under his breath, Raphael felt his resolve to obey his obligation slowly crumble to dust. Soon, a new determination took hold, his protective love for Abel and his father driving his doubts aside.

No more staying silent.

No more standing aside when help and comfort was desperately needed.

After all his failures within this trying time, he could _not_ refuse Abel this.

The decree be damned.

 ** _“Alright . . .”_** Raphael breathed out, his decision final as the sighed word faded into the shining air. With a caring kiss to Abel’s head, he slowly nudged the younger angel from his embrace, his wing pairs retreating back. Reluctantly, Abel allowed himself to be pushed away, his strength of body and will too sapped to put up much of a fight.

 **“ _Alright.”_** His uncle repeated, gently lifting Abel’s hanging head with a hand under his chin as the other patted his shoulder plate. Resisting his second flinch at Abel’s broken stare and tear-streaked face, Raphael pulled forth the strength to smile reassuringly at him as he stared into his nephew’s once bright eyes. His long wings opened and spread out behind him, ready and waiting in the continuous breeze.

He would grant Abel’s wish . . . and would be there for whatever came after.

**_“Fold in your wings, Abel . . . I will take you to him myself.”_ **

* * *

The flight with Raphael was all a blur to Abel, his clouded mind paying little heed to the details of the world that sped past. He simply stayed limp in his uncle’s strong hold as his eyes stared blankly out at the shining realm, his floating thoughts lost in a thick, cold fog that simultaneously numbed and pained his bleeding angel-heart.

Only in the moment his armored feet pressed against warm stone again, when his uncle’s tight grip left his body and made him to stand unsteadily on his own, did his thoughts finally turn outward again, his blinking eyes focusing on the structure that towered before him.

Abel froze at the sight of it, his burry gaze sharpening and dilating as his teeth clinched and his hackles rose.

He stood upon an island of stone and metal, floating within a sea of drifting, sun-golden clouds and rivers of dancing light. Large statues of faceless, hooded angels stood guard along the circular rim of the island, luminescent, holy water falling from their carved armor like stoles to pool at their feet and cascade over the edge of the platform.

But it was the building of which the statues stood guard that held Abel in place.

It towered over him like the hilt of a colossal sword, the long spire cutting through the sky, the giant, open wings of the structure spreading out from the sides of the platform like an enormous crossguard. Large, metal shards floated in the air alongside them like extending feathers, while pieces of crown-like rings slowly circled the mighty spire all along its length.

And at the base of the shining tower, nested between the winged constructions, was a large dome center, glittering softly with blue and white lights like the jewel in the sword’s hilt. The same lights also shined out from the top of the spire as a shining beam racing like a beacon into the sky and the stars above. Thick veins of stone and metal embroidered the dome centerpiece, seemingly holding it in piece as well as decorating it with sharp, captivating patterns and rivers of light. These veins then gathered at the front of the domed building, combining to form graceful, inscribed archways and stairs that led the way to the dome’s closed, stone-door entrance.

All of it combined was a beautiful sight; intimidating, yet majestic as the very stone shimmered with light and awestriking craftmanship.

Abel knew what this building was, what it was meant to be. He had seen many exactly like it in his angelic lifetime and had visited a quite few himself in the past.

This place, a stunning monument within the Sacred Winds . . . it was a mausoleum. 

Before, standing upon one such island would bring upon him a deep sadness and somber reflection. Now, the sight of this one looming over him sent a cold panic and piercing dread straight into his Core, paralyzing him within its dreadful beauty.

Transfixed, he didn’t take notice of the other angels conversing nearby as they suddenly fell silent and looked to him worryingly. They quickly took off after a few low whispers. He barely noticed his uncle as the older angel walked past him towards the archways, the general watching with narrowed eyes as the other angels took their hasty leave.

Abel could only stare up at the gleaming tower and glowing dome, his sudden terror growing. He began to hyperventilate on the spot.

The sound of his panicked breathing and the alarming spikes of fear his Core gave off forced Raphael to turn back to his nephew, concern clear in his expression. At the sight of his nephew cowering before the memorial, he worriedly called to him, slowly approaching him.

 ** _“Abel?”_** The petrified angel tore his eyes away from the building, his wide, terrified gaze snapping to his uncle’s. As Raphael approached him, his hands raised in a pacifying gesture, Abel began to slowly shake his head, taking a step back as his tears, having only just stopped and dried, began flowing again down his cheeks.

“I . . . I-I-I can’t . . .” He whispered in a scared, shaking tone as his uncle closed in. Sending one last, haunted look at the structure beyond, he ducked his head into his hands, quivering as he backed away further.

“I-I-I-” Firm hands landed on his armored shoulders, halting his retreat. One hand quickly moved to pull Abel’s hands gently from his face as his uncle’s caring voice called to him.

 ** _“Abel . . . Abel, look at me.”_** Very slowly, Abel rose his teary, green eyes to Raphael’s kind, pale-gold pair. Once he had his attention, the archangel gave him a sad smile.

 ** _“You have to.”_** The finality within those three words seemed to echo around them, the seriousness within the kind, sympathizing tone giving the statement a heaviness within both their souls. Still smiling gently with a sincere sadness, Raphael placed his hand on Abel’s breastplate, over his Core.

 ** _“Otherwise . . . you will regret it for the rest of your days.”_** Solemnly, they stared at each other for a few moments more, the weight of his foretelling words pressing down on them both. Then, taking Abel’s hand in his, Raphael slowly pulled him towards the mausoleum, his expression becoming more reassuring as Abel took a few hesitant steps after him.

**_“Come. Walk with me, Abel, and you will see him again.”_ **

_Perhaps for the last time._ Raphael quickly pushed that agonizing thought from his mind before it could sour his comforting countenance.

Eyes still wide and terrified, Abel followed after him, his fear and desperation waging war in his Core. It was only his uncle and his comforting presence that kept him from freezing dead in his tracks again, his steps slow and shaky as his fear of what lay ahead battled with his desire to see his father again.

At one point, Raphael thought it safe to break eye-contact with Abel, turning back to the building as he led Abel forward by the hand. No longer able to use his uncle’s face as a point of focus, Abel pointedly kept his eyes down, not daring to catch even a glance of the glyphs inscribed upon the arches passing over them.

He couldn’t bear to find _his_ name glowing upon the stones.

Eventually, both angels stopped as they reached the bottom of the stairs that wrapped around the front of the dome structure, the both of them perking up and tensing at the presence they could now sense within the building’s walls. Raphael gritted his teeth against the anger and disbelief that radiated from the familiar Core ahead, while Abel looked up at the engraved doors before them with frightened bewilderment at the sensation.

Nonetheless, with a firm tug on their joined hands, Raphael broke their pause and steadily pulled Abel up the stairs, his gaze locked on the doors with a determined defiance. Abel followed along, helpless to refuse in his continuously rattled state.

And then, just as they reached the top, the stone entrance burst open with a deep rumble. Abel jumped at the abrupt flinging of the doors, choking on a shuddered breath, while Raphael came to a stop with a narrowed gaze, watching the figure’s fast approach from within the mausoleum.

The figure stopped in front of the great entrance, his dark wings spread at his sides as if to block them from entering. Long robes and dress of deep purple and steel gray flared in the breeze around the angel’s tense form as his crown of Spades glinted sharply in the sunlight. Three, silver-beaded halos slowly rotated behind his head of long, black hair, the different sized circlets aligned together like the rings of a tree.

The angel was a powerful and intense figure to behold, but Raphael simply regarded his brother with a stoical air as his fellow general glared at him with burning irritation.

 ** _“Raphael. What do you think you are doing here . . .”_** The Keeper of Knowledge asked in a low, detesting voice, his lavender eyes glowing with his displeasure. His gaze slowly drifted over to the angel beside Raphael, his narrowed eyes sharpening their dislike at the sight of Abel.

 ** _“. . . with him?”_** He finished his question in the same, scorning voice. Abel’s eyes widened even further as hurt and confused dismay lashed at his already wounded Core, shaken by second uncle’s unprovoked aggression towards him. The Prince may never have been as close to the scholar as he was with Raphael, but they still had a decent, familial relationship with each other. Abel had innumerable memories of spending time learning with his intellectual uncle, as confusing and frustrating as the lessons many times proved to be.

So now, to find the angel who was both uncle and tutor to him so displeased with the mere sight of him, it was threatening to break Abel’s Core all over again.

Raphael quickly moved in front of him, shielding him from his fellow general’s glare as he answered in a clear and firm tone.

 ** _“He is here to see Daemon, Uriel.”_** Abel peeked around Raphael’s wings to catch Uriel’s deep frown turn into a scowl, shaking his head as his raven-like wings bristled with hostility.

 ** _“Raphael, did you not heed a single word spoken to you?”_** Uriel asked scoldingly, his disbelieving anger heightening the pitch and volume of his voice. He crossed his arms in his deep disapproval, growling at his medical brother as he curled his lips and waved his wings.

Abel watched both his uncles in growing anxiety, feeling the aggression rolling off of them in waves. More tears were building up and his throat began to constrict with approaching whimpers, guilt and horror building in his chest at the sight of his breaking world. His spiraling decline was only paused when he felt something move against his neck, causing him to freeze in alarm. It slivered along the seam of his left shoulder plate and across his attached cloak before finally entering his sight in the corner of his eye.

A white snake looked back at him, its crystal eyes glittering in the light. Abel’s body relaxed as he recognized one of the snakes from Raphael’s halo.

 ** _“I know you that disagreed with the decision, Raphael, but we had expected you to honor it at the very least.”_** Uriel’s exasperated rebuke rumbled out as the snake retreated from Abel’s sight, it and Abel still hidden from Uriel’s view behind Raphael’s shielding body and wings. Abel then felt the snake push his head to the side, towards the doorway past his uncles’ wings, as Raphael’s voice whispered into his ear from the serpent itself. 

**_“He’s in there. Through those doors.”_** Looking into the open entrance of the mausoleum, Abel could just see the interior of the large room past the gaps in Uriel’s feathers. Beyond the hovering altars, trailing banners, and walls lined with documenting scrolls, there stood another pair of doors, prayers engraved in glowing glyphs all along the length of the rounded marble.

Abel recognized such an entryway. He knew what lay beyond it . . . and it filled him with an aching, compulsive wish, as well as a paralyzing fear.

He couldn’t look away and he couldn’t move, everything else slowly fading away as he read the prayers upon the doors over and over and over again like a mantra in his head. His cracking Core shook painfully with each reiteration.

Raphael sternly moved towards his brother, Uriel tensing and bristling at the adamant approach. His wings spread wide and rising up to tower in a threatening display, the scientist straightened his stance and rose his shoulders almost to the effect of an arching, angry feline, his glaring eyes flittering with purple sparks.

 ** _“Raphael.”_** Uriel growled lowly in warning as his brother stopped nearly nose-to-nose with him, meeting his glare with his own.

 ** _“Move aside, Uriel.”_** Raphael commanded, his voice calm, yet hardened like steel as he held himself as tensely and imposing as his opposing brother. Uriel immediately shook his head at the demand, readying himself to force Raphael to retreat.

 ** _“I will not. I cannot allow—”_** Raphael’s hands shot out and grabbed onto Uriel’s arms just as the scientist’s hands rose to ward the medic off, cutting off his firm refusal with staggering surprise. Taking advantage of his surprise, Raphael spun him out of the way. As the medic flung his brother through the air, the snake in Abel’s ear hissed as the way was opened before him.

 ** _“Go to him.”_** Those three words broke through Abel’s circling thoughts like a strike of lightning, breaking the creeping ice that kept him frozen to the spot and deaf to the world. Breaths coming fast, his uncle’s words quickly replaced the final prayers of the doors ahead as the command flowed with his blood into his very Core.

_Go to him._

He no longer hesitated.

The bloodson of the great Supreme shot forward with reckless speed, once again heedless to all else as he dashed through the giant doors of the mausoleum with eyes locked on the entrance further in.

As the boy tore into the library-esque anteroom of the sanctum, Uriel had already regained his balance in the air from his brother’s unexpected throw. Spinning himself around, Uriel’s outraged expression morphed into pure dismay as he spotted Abel disappearing through the front doors. 

Alarm shrilling his voice, Uriel dove down through the air, racing after his nephew.

 ** _“NO! WAIT! YOU CANNOT—”_** He screamed, but his words cut off as his wings pulled him back, quickly flinging himself backwards to a screeching halt.

The massive doors of the mausoleum slammed shut as the Commander of Healers spread his tan wings wide against them, blocking Uriel’s path just as the scholar himself had done moments before.

Raphael stood as a guard at the doors, his stance tall and readied with all four wings stretched to their limits to cover the area of the entrance. Arms ready at his sides, he met his brother’s returning glare with a steady, iron gaze. Uriel literally snarled in his irate distress.

 ** _“Uriel.”_** Raphael called tautly, his hook claws slowly slipping out in instinctive caution. He could see the infuriated power now consuming Uriel’s eyes in a fuming fire, the tips of his blackened feathers slowing folding and transmuting into sharpened steel as they quivered and beat through the air.

Raphael’s body was prepared to defend, but he had no desire to fight. The last thing the healer would ever want would be to fight one of his own brothers in a time like this.

Forcing his body to relax and his claws to retract, Raphael let his own glare fade under his tiredness, his own aggression draining away. He then lifted a hand in a halting gesture, slowly shaking his head as he solemnly beseeched his affronted sibling.

 ** _“Brother, please. Do not fight me on this. Not here . . . and not now.”_** Uriel said nothing for a long moment, both angels’ eyes locked together through the tense air as the black-winged archangel hovered with a seething presence. He glowered down at Raphael, barely keeping himself from roaring his rage as his wings morphed and shifted between various, dangerous forms in his distressed fury.

But he abstained, his deplored crossness slowly dimming as his blazing gaze took in the saddened and tired countenance of his brother. Slowly, Raphael’s plea churned in his analytical mind, reluctantly considered. As vexed as he was with Raphael’s actions, Uriel knew initiating a fight would remedy nothing now.

Even if he had the heart to lay a hand upon his brother, Raphael was correct nonetheless. Any sort of violence committed upon this hallowed place would be a pure and unacceptable insult to the life and efforts of the late brother and leader they were here to honor.

And in a ruptured time like this, infighting on any level could easily prove calamitous.

Finally breaking eye-contact with his pleading brother, the knowledgeable general looked past him at the sealed doors, easily sensing the young Core within.

It was too late to stop Abel now, the angel likely within the Resting Chamber already, and the idea of dragging the desperate angel back out by force felt . . . utterly repulsive to the researcher.

Staring at the doors and the angel guarding them, Uriel entertained such thoughts for a few breaths more before closing his glowing eyes with a long, exasperated exhale. Forcing his steely feathers to revert, he quickly folded in his large wings and allowed himself to drop from the height of his hover, effortlessly landing on his feet at the bottom of the stairs.

Dwarfed within the shadows of the towering arches, Uriel folded his arms into his long, wide sleeves, his expression harsh with a deep frown. Then, he lifted his head and opened his eyes. His gaze was no longer flooded with power, but they still glowed furiously up at the angel stepping up to the edge of the steps above.

 ** _“You are a treacherous fool, Raphael. The consequences for what you have just done will descend upon us ALL.”_** The Angel of the North reproached up to the Angel of the East, his intense glare still present upon him. When Raphael didn’t respond, Uriel continued, placing a hand over his Core as he hissed.

 ** _“I strongly advised Abel’s detainment because there was a high probability that he would deteriorate if he were allowed to see his bloodsire’s condition. His mentalities would be crippled.”_** The dark angel’s eyes narrowed as he growled accusingly up at the angel standing silent above him, his hand sweeping out to gesture about him.

 ** _“And now, you have seen to that disastrous possibility oh so willingly, even against the decree of your own brethren.”_** With that growling accusation, Uriel fell silent, waiting impatiently as Raphael’s outstretched wings slowly began to lower and pull in. Yet still, the brunette angel stood firm and rooted between the mausoleum and the archangel, ready still should Uriel make a move against him.

Letting out a deep sigh, the tired medic took Uriel’s indictment with no argument against the consequences, only speaking his case for the sake of his dear nephew.

 ** _“He wished to see his father . . . and after everything they’ve been through, after all of our own failures to them, I could not refuse him this when there was still time.”_** Raphael’s tone was subdued, but steady, keeping solid eye contact with Uriel at every word. The other archangel merely loured at his excuse, shaking his head as he scolded Raphael once again.

 ** _“Not all prayers should be granted, Raphael. You should have withheld Abel and waited for our brother’s physicality to rejoin Creation, as was decided.”_** As Raphael closed his eyes with a weary sigh at the reprimand, Uriel’s scowl gradually slipped without his brother’s notice, his lavender eyes lowering to stare uneasily at the stone path. At last, the fear and dread that swirled hidden behind his anger reached his expression, a look of unsettled alarm crossing his face with a flinch as he fearfully muttered under his breath.

 ** _“If he is reclaimed while Abel is with him . . .”_** Raphael shook his head, his wings curled around him as he ran a hand through his hair. His serpentine halo, long since returned to its original state, drifted down nearly to rest on his head in his low spirits as he answered Uriel’s rebuttal.

 ** _“This was a plea I could not deny, my brother. I couldn’t do that to Abel. Not after . . . I-I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t bear to take away his only chance to say goodbye, after everything that has happened.”_** He opened his eyes, staring forlornly down at his hands that had shortly before hugged a whimpering Abel close. He flinched, his deep sadness consuming his expression.

**_“Who are we to take away even more from him, our own nephew?”_ **

The instant after his final word, the air erupted.

 ** _“HE IS NOT JUST OUR PRECIOUS NEPHEW ANYMORE!”_** Raphael started at Uriel’s echoing roar, the angel’s black wings snapping open and clearing the stairs between them in a second. The healer took a step back in shock as his brother came face-to-face with him, his wide eyes sparking and his teeth bared in an expression that was a storm of fury and fear. Raphael quickly went on the defensive again, wings raised, eyes glowing, and claws extending. Uriel stalked forward heedlessly, pushing the healer back as he hissed almost to the point of shouting again.

 ** _“Every angel from here to the farthest reaches of the Realms felt the shift in power when Daemon was slain! They all know who now leads them AND this war!”_** Both stopped when Raphael refused to retreat any further, only inches away from the massive doors. The medic stared with wide-eyed shock at Uriel’s wide-eyed glare, now seeing clearly the dread mixed with the anger within his lavender eyes. He could even feel the great unease and frustration rolling off the Core of his usually close-to-the-vest brother. Yet despite the signals, Raphael returned Uriel’s glare with a look of firm warning, still standing ready to fend him off should Uriel make another advance.

Uriel merely snarled, mentally cursing his brother’s bleeding-heart complex as he lay down the gravity of their dire situation.

 ** _“He is to be the Unity of Heaven’s Armies and Ambassadors. OUR SUPREME AS DAEMON’S HEIR! You cannot adhere to a request that puts every creature in Creation in jeopardy, including the boy himself, just to sooth your guilty conscience!”_** Once more, the two angels stood tense and imposing, standing toe-to-toe with each other in a battle of wills. No other move was made, only silence reigning over them as they glared crackling tension into each other’s eyes.

Finally, Raphael’s eyes, before blown wide with shock and hurt, hardened almost coldly as he gave Uriel his first, angry growl within the entire confrontation.

 ** _“It is his right to be here. More than any of us, it is HIS. To deny him that would be a sin in and of itself.”_** Uriel did not retreat at his brother’s anger. He instead leaned in close, growling back with a hard voice.

 ** _“You are not the only one who cares about that boy, Raphael. I understand the sentiment, but your compulsive emotions have blinded you to the severe actuality of this situation.”_** His hand flew out to gesture to the structure towering over them, Raphael tensing at the fast motion.

 ** _“In your obsessive desire to remedy any pain you see, you in all probability have damaged him far beyond that which even you could ever heal!”_** His accusing prediction echoed around them like a mandate of the Thrones, final and fate-bearing. Once again, a brief silence befell them in its wake, both staring down the other, before Raphael spoke his piece in a low, tense voice, his gaze steadfast and resolute despite the lingering, tired sorrow within them.

 ** _“You would do well to notate, dear brother . . . that it is by these emotions, this such love, that we are separate from the demons that extinguish our loved ones so joyously.”_** Stance strong and determined, Raphael slowly moved forward with wings still raised in defiance, forcing his brother to fall back as he continued with a steady, unbroken gaze, tone adopting a scolding quality. Uriel scowled, but Raphael could see his anger weakening as he spoke.

 ** _“I would also strongly advise you, Uriel, to have more faith in your nephew, your Supreme-to-be. He is stronger than even you have estimated. Though he may break, he will endure. I and others will be there to help him pick up the pieces, and we will give him the hope and love he needs and deserves.”_** Reaching the stairs, Uriel stopped his own reluctant retreat as Raphael stopped his unyielding advance, his wings promptly folding in and his claws disappearing. Eyebrow raised in challenging suspicion, Raphael questioned his scientific brother with a serious timbre.

 ** _“Will you be there to do the same?”_** At his biting challenge, Raphael finally felt Uriel’s hostile aura drop, a barely noticeable flinch cutting across the darker angel’s shocked expression. In the past, Raphael would have been smugly delighted with a victory in an argument with his factual sibling . . . but here and now, Uriel’s falter gave him no pride or joy . . . only a further drain on his energy and spirit.

Uriel stood momentarily stunned by Raphael’s words, astonished into speechlessness. Then, Raphael watched as his expression morphed from surprise, to anger, to disbelief, then to weak annoyance until finally, his expression fell with his wings. The dark-haired general lost almost all sign of aggression as a familiar tiredness took over.

For the first time since his emergence from within the sanctum, Uriel’s powerful appearance faded away, his broken guise leaving behind duller eyes, dark rings beneath them, and a sagging posture. An irritated air still circled him, but the medic could feel the pain and fear radiating from his brother’s center before the connection between them tampered off, purposefully hidden once again.

With his anger spent, Uriel gave a half-hearted huff as he quickly turned away, beginning a slow descent down the steps as he finally relented.

 ** _“The deed is done. There is nothing more I can do but count his time.”_** He grumbled, not looking back. Raphael easily noticed Uriel dodging his question, but let it slide, having no desire to start another round to their fight. He merely watched and listened as Uriel stopped for a moment and turned his head to gaze back at him, his expression nearly as tired as his own now, but voice still with a bit of bite.

 ** _“He can stay with Daemon for a few mortal minutes, but no more.”_** He turned away again, but stayed in place upon the steps, taking in the golden realm that drifted by them as if with little care for the tragedy they stood upon. He studied a flock of angels swooping through the distant clouds beyond, their graceful, relaxed flight so contrary to the thrashing, screaming emotions experienced upon this floating rock. After a moment of contemplation, Uriel spoke again, his voice a weak, warning growl as the angels ahead disappeared behind the massive Cumulonimbus clouds.

 ** _“Were the circumstances not so dire, Raphael, believe me that the Council would have your wings for this. Remember that the next time you act so rashly.”_** The medic said nothing in response and merely watched as Uriel continued down the stairs. The further his brother went, the more Raphael’s body sagged and his wings lowered at the confirmed conclusion of their discourse, his large vans drooping to the ground as his own exhaustion took hold once again. Putting a hand to his tired face, Raphael nearly missed Uriel’s final say as he left the stairs behind, his subdued voice loud and clear despite the growing distance. 

**_“Michael and Gabriel will be arriving soon with their final scrolls. You should use them as practice for when you will have to explain your treasonous actions to the whole of Heaven.”_ **

And with that, Uriel’s dark wings unfurled and quickly carried him away through the towering arches, taking him to the far edge of the island to await the others’ arrival.

Watching Uriel’s shrinking form for a few moments more, Raphael let out a long sigh of releasing tension before allowing himself to turn away from his brother and his warnings. He would worry about such things later. For now, Raphael choose to stare sadly up at the beautiful structure curling and transcending around him, his Core reaching out to sense the precious life tucked away within the glittering walls and brilliant shields.

The only precious life within.

Raphael flinched at the spark of pain at the unwelcome thought, both his and a residual from Abel’s.

Another wave quickly followed, a ripple of pain clearly from the Core within the mausoleum, instead of his own. The bout of agony he sensed tugged at his instincts to reach out and attend, but Raphael held himself in place.

This was something he must allow Abel to have and confront alone, as painful as it may be for them all.

And so, with a deep, shuddering breath, Raphael closed his eyes and turned away, electing to simply stand guard at the doors for as long as he could. He would be an unmoving sentry upon his brother’s tomb and his nephew’s wish, determined in his duty.

But all the while, the loyal archangel prayed . . . begging fiercely to the Lord himself to give Abel His strength and comfort . . . and to forgive His foolish healer for every ounce of pain he inflicted upon his brethren with his terrible mistakes.

* * *

Heavy footsteps and frantic breathing broke the sanctified air of the Echoing Hall, the sun-winged angel sprinting past the branching pillars and waterfall fountains lining his path. Enochian glyphs coiled and drifted around the pillars and falling waters like glowing, aerial vines. The whispered prayers and remembrances of countless angels softly flowed alongside these words of light like the gentle run and merge of air currents.

The rivers of heartful farewells and soft-spoken memories should have been a sobering, yet comforting companion, a blanketing atmosphere for endless, shared reflection. Instead, the numerous voices of intertwining tones and emotions and stories only proved to stab at Abel, their gentle songs and whispers becoming another overwhelming roar in his ears as he surged through the forest-like gallery towards the light ahead.

His eyes stayed glued on the swirling gateway at the end of his path, the bright energy upon the large, sigil disk dancing and changing like fire, smoke, and even water combined.

Beyond this awaiting portal, he would find his father at last . . . and that very thought terrified him.

Yet even so, he pushed himself faster, desperate to reach the shifting light. He hoped and begged with all his Core that it was all just a sick joke or a bad dream. Soon, he will jump through the portal ahead and he’ll find Daemon awaiting him on the other side with a welcome smile, or perhaps he’ll snap awake from this horrible nightmare.

He needed this torment to end. He needed to find him.

He needed his dad to tell him everything was okay.

He leapt into the portal without hesitation. It was with no small amount of relief and apprehension that he finally felt the large stream of shifting energy flare around him, its power immediately wrapping around him like a blanket of warmth and chill. Soon, his senses were completely consumed by the feeling, his body merging with the streams as they swiftly carried him away.

For a few precious seconds, he saw and heard nothing but the rush of energies, a brief interlude from reality as the voices and pain faded away.

Then all too soon, he felt the pull of the portal untangle itself from his essence, the world gradually fading back in behind the streams of light. In moments, the streaks of light fell away to spiral slowly at his armored feet, leaving the once sprinting angel standing completely still upon the portal’s glowing sigil within the final chamber.

His eyes had closed during the transportation, the angel standing unmoving and unseeing within the unnatural silence of the dreaded room as the fear and dread playing with his heart.

In truth, the whole of Heaven was always alive with gentle sound, be it humming, whispering, singing, chiming, or the simple rush of wind.

But here, it was near silent, even the humming of the building’s stones seeming subdued in a sort of reverence. The muted sound frightened Abel more than he thought possible, the young angel nearly gasping in the growing terror of this unwanted place.

It was several moments of battling the strangling fear before the freckled angel gathered enough courage and desperation to open his emerald orbs, slowly cracking them open in a maddening mess of hope and anxiety.

It was then that Abel felt his Core erupt with such intense emotions for a split second, a sudden burst that threatened to consume him, before it immediately lost all feeling, his heart promptly burning out and numbing at the sight that met his gaze.

The chamber itself was not a cause for alarm, as beautiful and carefully crafted as the rest of the building. The room was similar in layout to a much larger version of a medical den, curving over him with a domed ceiling, supporting arches, and a large, centered skylight raining down the gentle light of the building’s beacon. However, there were unmissable differences.

The healing glyphs on a medical den’s walls and ceiling were replaced here with massive, overlapping carvings of many wings, stretching out in a spiraling, open embrace down the walls from the centered skylight. Each stone feather moved in incredibly slow waves within an imaginary breeze.

At the large room’s center, encircled by the outstretched, Godly wings, was a rounded pavilion, the open zenith of its feathered roof nearly touching the room’s high ceiling around the shining aperture. The soft light of the runes and ley lines on the stone floor ran around the gazebo in revolving patterns as the columns of the shelter towered before him as a circle of six, chiseled, angelic guardians. The two columns closest to him were hooded, robed figures turned toward him and the portal, their hands held out in offering with carved wings tucked tightly behind them. Flaring above their cupped, stone palms, an illuminating ball of water-like essence flickered and danced like the slowed flame of a torch, lighting the path to the room’s center. Behind them, the other four angels shaped into the supporting columns were turned inward, their hooded heads lowered and hands raised in silent prayer. Rosary vines curled around their lifted arms to dangle from their pressed hands, their numerous, round berries glowing with the swirling, preserved prayers of the visitors who came before Abel.

All the room was a magnificent, if melancholic, sight within the glow of the bubbling torches, orbiting runes, and the raining shower of light from above.

All except for the one who lay bathed in the soft, blue shine at the chamber’s revolving center, resting before the devoting statues upon a large, altar berth clothed in the banners of an honored Liberator.

Abel held himself like a statue; silent, unmoving, and unfeeling. He could not even breathe as his sunken eyes chained themselves to the man resting at the heat of the room.

The white warrior, awash in the brilliance of his Resting Chamber, lay upon the surrounded berth as if sleeping, his armored body lying flat upon the bannered stone with his head cushioned with an arrangement of encircling talismans and cloth. His large hands folded upon his broad chest, they held his large, knightly sword beneath them to gleam against his armor plating, the jewel in the hilt sparkling weakly with dominant power.

He was a peaceful image, but one that flared a spark of horror within the cold blankness of Abel’s Core.

“Da . . . D-Dae . . .” His weak whisper wheezed from him without his consent, the name clawing its way from his throat to freedom as feeling slowly began to return to his chest.

A terrible, piercing pain built up within him like a black plague, the pure ache of it leaking into his small voice as he finally took a deep, shuddering breath.

“ _D-Daemon_?” He called out, but the large angel did not answer, remaining still and silent upon his plinth. Instead, Abel was forced to continue as a witness to his horrible stillness, to comprehend the paralyzing, horrifying sight of his father’s broken body laying before him.

Despite his peaceful sleeping, Abel’s Core began to sear at the clear view of the archangel’s near mangled condition. His once strong, flawless armor shined clean in the light, but was marred and fractured, dents and deep slashes from claws and weapons making jagged the once smooth, rounded plates covering his body. The edges of his amor across his body were chipped and shredded, and his cape was little more than tatters beneath him.

There was so much damage, both half-healed and fresh, that even his thick shoulder plates were slashed to pieces, one top shell completely missing from its once shielding position along his collar.

But, bits and pieces of his armor were not the only things missing. Daemon’s sparking halo was also nowhere to be found.

And his wings . . .

 _His wings_. . . the long, bright streams of power and warmth that had always been distinctly _Daemon_ to Abel _. . ._ they were missing.

The circling horror creeped out from Abel’s chest and latched tightly around his throat like a python, choking the life from him as his wide eyes stared at the emptiness about his father.

The bright tendrils, which Daemon had flown, comforted, and fiercely defended with for eons, were gone.

Along with . . .

 _“Dad?”_ Abel choked out breathlessly as he suddenly stumbled forward, compelled instinctively by his dreadful terror to rush to his father’s side. Wide, scared eyes began to blur with returning tears as the armored fledgling’s unsteady footing forced him to lean heavily against a stone angel’s robed side, his large wings flaring behind him, before continuing forward underneath the pavilion’s shelter.

There, within the circle of the mausoleum’s blessed light, he found his fretting pace quickly brought to a halt, the same fear that brought him forward stopping him a mere foot away from his bloodsire’s side.

He could feel his Core and trembling mind tearing at the steams, the growing whirl of emotions painfully pushing and pulling his resolve in different directions.

His Core _begged_ to continue forward, to take that final step to his beloved father’s side and end this nightmare. But still the horrible dread of finding the nightmare unending made him hesitate, terrified of the truth that his soul even now battled to deny. It kept him once again frozen, stuck in place to stare aghast down at the unwelcome, half-healed scars cutting across his dad’s face, and at the stillness of his closed eyes and blank expression.

Time passed slowly within the tomb as Abel struggled to act. To comprehend. To deny.

With every passing second, his armored body began to shake, soon trembling violently as he finally took a small step forward. With his expression stricken and air refusing to fill his tightening chest, he reached out to with a hand rampant with tremors, his fearful gaze locked on Daemon’s damaged face.

“D-Dad?” His voice was barely more than the breath of a scared child’s within the withholding quiet of the chamber, the fracturing angel forcing himself closer with his piteous call.

At last, Abel’s quivering hand met with his father’s still, armored shoulder . . . the first physical contact between them in decades.

The stone angels around the honored angel bore witness to the massive shudder that rippled through the living angel’s body, his hunching figure nearly collapsing on the spot and his breathing stuttering to panicked, pathetic gasps for air.

Beneath his fingers, Daemon’s armor, always so warm and strong with angelic life and energy, was now cold and barren . . . as empty as the hammered, soulless steel forged within the Mortal world.

Abel nearly tore his hand away in that instant, the alien cold like a scolding burn to his flesh, but he dared not pull away. The small piece of him could not bear losing the precious contact he had longed to have again for years upon years, even as another crack ruptured his Core and his mind struggled to grasp anything beyond his rising, terrified anguish.

Instead, raw desperation applied force to his hand as the son beginning to shake his father’s shoulder, attempting to rouse him as the young man’s mind continued to shout and whisper all at once.

_He’ll be okay. He’ll be okay. He’ll be okay! He’ll wake up . . ._

“D-Dad . . . w-wake up . . .” He pleaded softly as he pushed Daemon’s shoulder, watching his weak shoves barely move the large warrior.

His resting bloodsire gave no reaction, not a single twitch in response to his gentle nudges.

Pain lashed out from the aching Core in his chest.

_He’ll wake up just like before! Like always!_

He pushed harder, sight distorting under the spilling flood of terrified tears as he whimpered pitifully.

“W-Wake up.” Daemon’s torso rocked noticeably under Abel’s pushing, his head shaking back and forth and hands slowly sliding from his chest in the motion. Yet still he gave no reply to his son’s sad pleas, granting no comfort to his fledgling’s consuming panic and anguish.

Abel could feel himself slipping, his thoughts swirling and crying out in mad desperation at the continued sight of his unresponsive, wounded father, but he had not the want to care about himself.

All he cared about in this moment was Daemon.

_He’s hurt, but he’s healing! He’s been sleeping, so he’s healing! He’ll wake up smiling again soon!_

A naïve part of him hysterically reassured him, trying to keep him from sinking deeper into the mounting despair that threatened to devour him with every second Daemon’s eyes remained closed, his presence cold.

“Please . . . p-please w-wake up!” His broken voice rose in volume as he gripped the berth tightly to keep himself standing, his shaking body clicking against the cloth-covered stone.

_He has to wake up. He will! He always has!_

His teeth clenched. His chest throbbed. His body quaked. The heart of his soul was breaking. His mad thoughts raced in circles as cries of frantic begs and fragile lies, and among them, small memories flashed by, drawn forth with his distress to both ease and plague him.

He could almost hear his past self’s laughing wake-up call in his ear, feel the familiar warmth and sluggish movement under his pushing hand once again.

_‘Rise and shine, Dad! Come on! Wake up, sleepyhead! You promised we’d go at dawn!’_

As quick as it came, the happy memory vanished within the storm and the feeling of horrible stillness and icy cold under his hand returned.

It was becoming too much to bear.

With tears falling, his Core broken and mind barely clinging together, Abel ripped his other hand off the berth and joined it with the other, both hands gripping Daemon’s battered arm as he shook his sire with frantic force. The white archangel’s body rocked and shifted under his son’s frenzied attempts to wake him, the young angel crying out to him in growing heartache.

“Please! Y-You . . . you h-have to get up! You have t—!"

Loud, ringing clashes pierced the still air, like cracks of furious lightening within the still room. Abel stumbled back with bristling wings, barely keeping himself from falling to his knees as he pitched to the side and clung to one of the surrounding statues in shock. He stared unblinking at Daemon’s form with eyes as wide as saucers, horrified disbelief tensing his body and chilling him to his broken Core.

The whole world crashed down around him, the weight of it crushing. He felt all his feeble hopes disintegrate from the force of the sudden blow as he whimpered out a stricken breath.

Daemon’s mighty sword now lay abandoned upon the ground, having fallen with the ringing crash to the stone floor from its placement on its master’s torso. Daemon’s arm now hung lifelessly off the berth after the weapon’s fall. At Abel’s forceful pushing, both of his hands had slipped from their position clasped over his chest, revealing a heaven-shattering sight.

Previously obscured under the archangel’s large hands and sword, there was a massive wound, a gaping opening that snared Abel’s being like a black hole swallowing up all light. The darkness within stared back at Abel like the eye of the Void, the angel gazing back upon it in horror. The sight of it carved into his father felt like a molten blade had been thrust through Abel’s own chest and twisted.

The young angel clenched the warm, stone pillar harder to keep himself standing as his legs gave out, the angel struggling to breathe as his eyes remained cemented to the empty, black void that glared out from inside Daemon’s chest.

“N-No . . . N-Nooooo . . .”

Nothing. There was nothing beyond the torn and melted edges of the horrendous rupture in Daemon’s breast. Just emptiness. No light. No pulse. No Core.

_No life._

Abel’s body remained locked in unending tremors, armor clicking with fiery wings and halo sparking with every shiver. Leaning his back against the pillared statue, Abel finally broke eye contact with the harrowing sight as his hands slowly left the stone to cover his eyes, his teeth gritting against the waves of pain crashing against him. His fingers curled against his head and tugged at his bangs as the agonized grief latched its claws into his heart.

“No . . . _please_ . . .”

He begged brokenly to the merciless chamber and its ever-silent guardians, nearly slipping down to the floor as his body hunched over from the bubbling pain and shock. He shook his head fiercely, every inch of him rebelling against the image of Daemon’s torn and ripped-open body.

Everything was wrong.

Everything around him was utterly and undeniable _WRONG_.

Teeth bared, Abel’s nails dug into his skin and his fingers pulled at his hair, his mind screaming out louder than ever before.

_WAKE UP._

He shook his head and dug in his nails, trying to force himself awake from this horrible dream he found himself in. He pressed the heels of his gloved palms hard into his watering eyes as he began to shake his entire body, attempting to use pain and motion to startle his sleeping self awake.

_THIS IS JUST A NIGHTMARE. WAKE UP!_

He felt sharply the pinprick stings of pain from his hair and the heavy sway of his shaking, armored body. His mighty wings give a few short beats, flaring and vibrating with each forceful hit against the standing columns. He even felt the rough stone of the carved angel’s robes scraping against his fiery feathers and his new pauldrons, his leather gloves rubbing roughly against his eyelids and cheeks.

He could feel the stone solid beneath his feet, feel the gentle energy coursing through the whole, massive structure that surrounded him.

His ragged breaths echoed loudly in the lax air of the chamber, overwhelming the faint hum of the caging walls in his ears. His Core thudded brokenly against his chest, the pain too intense and heavy to ignore or deny.

All of it was too real to his senses, firm and persistent. Too real for even his deepest dreams.

He let his hands fall from his eyes, blinking open his reddening orbs to the light. His pain was only made stronger by the returning sight of Daemon laying open upon that obsequy bed.

He wasn’t waking up. _This wasn’t a dream._

Abel felt like he was going to be sick, his throat locking up and his Core twisting and dropping like a stone into his stomach. Desperately, his mind sprinted and tripped for one last denial, one last defense as his eyes closed.

Memories of glaring shadows and cruel laughs clawed through his buzzing thoughts, full of nightmarish visions of reality warping and tearing horridly around the eyes and teeth that spread lies with every breath and glance. Abel’s whole being tensed and revolted against the image of the insidious tyrant of many faces, the redeemed angel’s treacherous captor and master who had cursed him and scarred his life forever.

All the tricks the bastard lord had played. _THE LIES._

_AN ILLUSION!_

In an instant, a Song spilled from Abel’s trembling lips like the flood waters through a collapsed dam, the incantation of Words snapping in the air with a crackle of electricity. At its quick end, his green eyes flashed bright gold from behind his closed eyelids as his wings and halo burned brighter for but an instant with a burst of sparks. An invisible wave of power rippled from Abel and through the room like a warm rush of air.

It was a melodious spell, a song to falter or break most demonic deceptions. A difficult one that Daemon had been adamant to develop for Abel to learn. The Words had saved many an angel since, including Abel himself, so he had faith that when he opened his eyes . . .

The empty eye of the fatal, gaping wound greeted his gaze’s return, glaring remorselessly at him from among the numerous, jagged claw marks that still marked the wingless, lifeless angel laying still within his solemn tomb.

Nothing had changed.

Shaking his head fiercely, more tears escaping down his cheeks, Abel’s mind screamed in his last, distraught defiance as the Song snapped from his lips again, over and over. His eyes and wings flashed with every finished Lyric, his power expanding out through the room again and again. He kept his eyes open for every Word this time, frantically watching for any revealing disturbance, any relieving break in the awful sight of his father’s devastated body.

He found no signs or shimmers of a breaking illusion, no relief.

With no results, he repeated the Song again, voice stumbling and hitching with each new iteration.

_BREAK IT! YOU HAVE TO BREAK IT!_

The half-hearted melody of his singing was barely present anymore as his Song became a torrent of shouts filled with alarmed despair, repeated over and over and over again with each failure. His halo and wings began to glow brighter and brighter, each incantation barely finished before Abel began again. The waves of power the Words unleashed also grew in strength and number, quickly becoming surges of hot wind and force against the chamber walls and pillars as the duplicated spell lost stability with every second of Abel’s loss of control.

_WAKE UP, WAKE UP, WAKE UP, WAKE UP!_

Eyes overflowing with tears, each breath catching painfully in his tightened throat and chest, Abel closed his eyes, hands clenched against his head, and screamed with a burst of power.

“WAKE! UP!”

The final swell billowed out from him like a shockwave with an explosion of golden light, thudding powerfully against the stone of the chamber and blowing back any banners and cloth caught in the wave.

Then silence. Stillness. The bright, golden light that had filled the room vanished as quickly as it had come, returning the chamber to its gentle blues and white glows. With the last flutters and swings of draping cloth and beaded vines, the atmosphere fell back into calm, the space the same as it was before.

Abel was also left silent, as unmoving now as the scene that remained.

Any demonic mirage would have at least faltered under the Song’s cracking command, but not a ripple could be seen or felt, his repeated spell finding no invisible, ensnaring walls to beat against.

The son was left to stand alone in his misery, gazing upon his father’s face with tunneled, blurring vision. During his attempts to shake him awake, the larger angel’s head had fallen to the side, his wounded cheek laying heavily against the cushioning ensigns. Now, his relaxed face was turned towards Abel, his lax, battered expression and closed, shadowed eyes gut-wrenching to the younger angel. Abel’s memories were of his strong, noble face, carrying sharp, blue eyes that radiated warmth and wisdom, not deadened like this.

In an instant, all fight fled from Abel, tears dripping off his chin and onto the ground. He nearly fell to the floor for a third time. His wings and halo dropped behind him in his emotional fatigue and despair, his ethereal feathers limp upon the ground as all his colors dimmed.

 _“Please . . .”_ He whimpered, forcing his weary body forward in an almost timid stumble. His wings dragged along the ground as he returned to Daemon’s side, his feathers brushing over the long, shining sword laying forgotten on the stone floor. Abel barely registered the tingling feel of the blade against his wing as he gazed down at his guardian’s still face with growing sorrow. He pointedly ignored the terrible wounds and that pitiless, mangled hollow that threatened to destroy him completely if he even spared them another glance.

Instead, he slowly reached out to the motionless archangel with trembling arms, flinching as his hands once again felt the cold, indifferent touch that had replaced Daemon’s once supportive warmth.

“P-Please w-wake up . . .” He whispered brokenly through his tears as he wrapped his arms around his bloodsire’s shoulders, effortlessly pulling the large angel up with his gifted strength. He didn’t know who he was pleading to anymore, himself or Daemon.

It didn’t matter, he was slowing realizing. Neither of them were waking up. Neither of them were dreaming.

Sliding over to sit upon the berth, nearly collapsing onto it, Abel gently tugged Daemon’s heavy body to his chest, ducking his head and burying his tear-stained face into his father’s soft hair as he hugged him close. Abel’s Core ached and twisted as his hitching breath easily pulled in Daemon’s familiar, comforting scent, a strange but beloved partnership between the smoky tang of the Forge’s fires and the electric, damp aroma that fills the air before an unleashing storm.

Young, flawless, gold and sapphire armor tapped and clanked softly against the elder, damaged, white and sky-blue plates as Abel’s body shook against Daemon’s. The younger angel hiccupped with nearly every gasping breath, a miserable whimper nearly always following as Abel curled around his father figure’s limp body. Weakly, his golden wings rose from the floor to envelop them both, joining Abel’s arms in a tightening hug around his cherished father. The flickering primaries of the flaming wings curled tenderly around any piece of Daemon they could, their gentle holds so very similar to the caring grasps once given to Abel from strong, blue streams rooted in his father’s backplates.

The grieving angel flinched hard, the gentle memories of the glowing wings lashing across his Core. He wished so much he could feel the bright, soothing tendrils wrapping around him now, pulling him close, ruffling his hair, and wiping away his tears as they had done so many times before.

More than that, he wished Daemon would stir in his arms and hug him back. He wished the archangel would open his eyes and look up at him with his fond, oldened gaze that kept the loneness away. He wished he would smile up at him and softly comfort him with his rich, compassionate voice and sage-like words.

But Daemon’s body remained cold and limp, still pulseless against him.

He didn’t move. He didn’t speak. He didn’t open his eyes.

Abel let out a keening whine as he clenched Daemon tighter, his tears soaking into his bloodsire’s hair as they quickened down his freckled cheeks. His body trembled and heaved under the waves of raw grief strengthening in his shattered soul, devastating.

“ _P-Pl-Plea-se_. . . _d-do-on’t . . ._ ” He mewled softly, clenching at the elder’s scarred armor as if afraid someone would rip the larger angel from his arms. More desperate, unfinished pleas followed the first with his gasping breath and cascading tears, whispered right above Daemon’s ear.

Yet still, the older angel gave him no response, still heedless to the suffering of the son he had once treasured.

Abel gritted his teeth against the newest wave of anguish that followed Daemon’s silence, puling pitifully. With the new waves of pain, memories swam to the surface, crashing against him with each swell like a ruthless ocean.

“ _D-Da-ad . . .”_ His broken cry was muffled as he cuddled into Daemon, hurt racking through his body with the arrival of each happy memory he had with the warrior laying in his arms. They flooded unstoppable into his head and wrapped warmly around his Core, but only to tighten around it, every drop of joy within them now an individual fiber in a crushing coil.

His tears never stopped as he wept at every happy memory that rushed past.

He could remember so many sunset nights spent surrounded by the curtaining branches of a large, star-weeping willow, or upon a cushioned, ivy-coated balcony overlooking the heavenly city, glimmering among the endless sea of galaxies, clouds, and the warm, soft glow of a continuous sunset.

Whether a night spent alone had become too much to bear, the nightmares too much, or he had simply preferred not to rest on his own, it never mattered. No matter the case, the nights he spent in his Daemon’s comforting presence always held a sense of warmth and safety the likes of which he had only ever dreamed about during his time as an imp demon. Compared to those centuries of fitful sleep spent alone and terrified within the Burning Hells’ smallest, most well-hidden cervices, resting at Daemon’s side, nestled under the Heavens’ beauty and the warm light of his bloodsire’s wings, was pure bliss to Abel, whether it was just the two of them or while surrounded by other sleeping angels. 

He would fall asleep to the feeling of love and protection, completely content pressed against his bloodsire’s armored side. The nightmares would not touch him there, leaving his slumber deep and relaxed.

Nothing else had ever felt more like home. Like he belonged.

The memories blurred and more swiftly followed, more of those peaceful slumbers and relaxing, lazy days. Days of shy interactions with other angels at Daemon gentle prodding and of times spent crying in the archangel’s arms when the ex-demon’s past became too much for him or other angels to ignore.

In each one, Abel could recall the calm and contentment that would warm his Core with each encouraging word and every comforting touch from Daemon. He could remember feeling his father’s Core responding in kind during those moments, singing a peaceful tone as they both relaxed under Heaven’s light together, or radiating a nurturing warmth as Abel trembled with nerves or fear under the Supreme’s wings.

He couldn’t feel that peace now. The lack of that familiar warmth was ironically like a hot torch to his ragged Core, searing across his mind as his body and wings coiled tighter around Daemon’s body. But despite the scorching sting the memories inflected, they just kept coming, his mind clawing though them like an animal desperately trying to escape a bottomless pitfall.

Memories of lazy days shifted to ones of joyful games and outings. Of explorations and adventures filled with wonder and excitement. 

He could remember his first flight with Daemon as a redeemed angel, after the archangel had finally recovered from his battle with Belial. He remembered being a nervous wreck at the aspect of flying on his renewed, feathered wings in this almost unfamiliar, groundless environment, surrounded by droves of shining angels. He remembered the absolute joy and exhilaration after he finally took the leap at Daemon’s beckoning and soared like a natural through the beauty of Heaven, his new bloodsire flying close to him the whole time with a protective, encouraging presence and a proud, delighted grin.

He recalled every flight after that. Every visit to the most beautiful and profound regions within the Heavenly and Mortal Realms. Every moment that made each place in space and time special and unforgettable. Watching the dancing Aurora of the Gates together. Charting the stars and galaxies that drifted between the Heavenly and Mortal spaces. Racing amongst them with other angels when clouds and skies weren’t enough. Inviting and teasing Daemon into his playful games. Watching and interacting with the creatures of the Earth and the First Garden.

Abel flinched with another stab of sorrow, remembering the awe-struck times spent with Daemon’s shining herd of ūnicornium within the Garden. All the times he and Daemon had spent together with the majestic giants and other mystical creatures created within the First Age, his father showing and teaching him everything he knew about that sacred world and their Heavenly kingdom. All the things Abel had missed or forgotten during his years after his Fall.

Another memory. There was the day he nervously took his place as a Principality on Earth, Daemon standing at his side in the beginning to provide support and advice. All the visits the Supreme had paid him after to make sure he was alright. All the visits Abel had paid him in return to make sure _he_ was alright.

Proudly showing Daemon a thousand times over the accomplishments of his angels and humans upon the Mortal Realm across the years. Happily giving the Supreme Archangel a tour of every new wonder that he found among his earthly people. Gleefully retelling the events and stories of his life on Earth in his letters and in his talks with his father, the older angel was ever keen to listen and share his own pleasant news. There were moments of vulnerability when Abel had voiced his doubts and concerns, but the elder was always there with seemingly endless wisdom and ceaseless waves of caring solace.

He never imagined he would come to miss it so very much, even after he had learned to stand all on his own and provide the same strength and shelter to others.

Helpless to stop it, with that one, little thought, a thousand days in training with his father stampeded through his mind, stomping it further into pieces as each one harboring a memory with the once powerful angel in his arms. Daemon had been there through much of Abel’s combat training, helping him unlock his abilities while carefully tending to his son’s struggling confidence.

More tears gushed down Abel’s cheeks as he recalled the pride that would glow across Daemon’s face whenever his bloodson succeeded in his lessons or whenever Abel beamed with confidence after bouts of despondency. The moments when they had sung together, both for simple harmony or for the intent of battle, had been some of Abel’s favorite days in training. Daemon’s singing voice echoed through his head from those memories so clear as to stab at his angelic, broken heart. His voice was deep and soft when the archangel weaved a lullaby, then fierce and thundering when his roar tore chaos across a battlefield, be it practice or real battle.

The young Prince would give anything to hear a song from him again. He didn’t care if it were wholesome hymns or a fierce battle cry. He wished so much that he was the one being cradled with a soothing song flowing in his ear. Instead, he was the one left cradling the other’s still body, with no song to come from the silence this time.

Abel let out a small sob, longing so much to live within those precious memories that had once filled his Core to bursting with love and tears of joy, but the moments now left him with nothing but hot tears of pain and blistering heartbreak as he tried to will them back fruitlessly.

There were so many memories, so many emotions flashing through Abel all at once. They played over and over in every order imaginable, soothing and torturing him a thousand times in seconds.

His body twitched with every gasp and wheezing sob, his freckled cheeks soaked and sticky with his rampant tears.

He couldn’t take much more of it. He was snapping at the seams. His grief was becoming overwhelming, the reality around him tearing him apart as he barely held himself together.

The final blow was struck when the very last memory tore powerfully through his head, running straight to his Core and slamming into it with a shattering force. His trembling body went completely still as his clenched eyes snapped open into wide, sightless saucers. The grieving angel fell helplessly into this memory as reality was ripped away. He felt a cold void open in his own chest as his sight filled with a vision, the youngest and most painful of all the memories.

His senses faded away, but returned again within the flood of one of his most regretful memories.

It had been Autumn within the Mortal Realm.

He stood deep within a familiar forest, alone as he stared up at the towering, sheltering giants pressing their black silhouettes against a beautiful, starlit sky. He was silent as he listened to the nightly songs, music orchestrated by the chorus of chirping crickets, the scratching and leaf-tussle of foraging creatures, and the echoing notes of a distant owl. He felt the cool breeze as it drifted through the thousands of tree branches above him, coaxing their changing leaves to take flight and join the crackling litter below. As it went, it also played gently with his silky, blue cape, ruffled his soft, brown hair, and stroked the neat, pigeon-like feathers of his tightly folded wings.

In the distance, just visible through the shedding trees, the earth rolled down into an immensity of fields and groves, a lea of farmland and pastures. The golden lights of distant torches and lamps sparkled en mass across the province and past the fields, marking the large, human civilization that had grown upon the land.

A shabby-parish-turned-prosperous-conurbation.

A thriving center of culture and trade.

His home for over a millennium.

Even from this distance, he could feel the life pulsing strongly from the thousands of citizens under his protection, as well as the angels among them who answered to his call.

But as he dropped his gaze from the winking stars to the glowing center of his sprawling territory, the sight of his shining achievement and the calm of the gentle night brought very little pride and peace to him this time. Instead, he looked upon the landscape with a storm in his eyes, his expression tight and almost that of panic.

His body had been humming with nervous energy ever since he had received word of an angelic patrol’s mysterious disappearance on the other side of this world, fretful worry nagging his limbs to start pacing and fluttering with unease. Yet, he remained rooted to the spot, unable to move even an inch as he waited.

And waited.

And waited.

The night marched onward towards the dawn. There was still much work to be done come the morning light, but still he denied himself any move to leave, the situation too dire for him to ignore or leave unchecked . . .

Only a few mortal days after the reported attack, a second message had arrived to shake him to his Core. He let out a shuddering breath at the memory of those words that sparkled in shifting glyphs upon the letter that was still clenched in his hand.

It had to be a joke. It couldn’t be real. Daemon won’t do something like that!

His Core felt painfully stretched under the conflict he continued to feel after reading those sigils marked with the holy seal, the horror and dread and total disbelief he felt threatening to swallow him whole.

He shivered, his wings wrapping around him. He felt cold, but it was not from the chill of approaching winter swirling on the breeze.

It was the dread of what was to come, and it came sooner than he might have liked.

He felt a sudden change in the atmosphere around him, one that caused the wilds’ calls to heighten throughout the forest and tingled through the air with an electrical energy. The cool, gentle breeze drifting through the trees swiftly became a heartier wind, the trees shaking and swaying in a crescendo of rustling and flying leaves. In those same moments, he heard what could have been the distant roll of thunder rumble softly over the trembling forest from a cloudless sky.

Then he felt it. He felt his Core answer another’s, a ping of awareness sounding through their continuous bond as it snapped into a place of strength with the other’s entry into this plane of reality. Abel tensed, easily recognizing all the signs as he stood like a statue among the clattering forest in the night.

His arrival on Earth always did have the calling cards of a coming storm.

Soon, Abel heard the animals around him quiet as he felt the wind beginning to swirl, no longer content to race a straight path through the treetops. Instead, it circled around him as it grew in strength, nearly howling with excitement and thrashing the trees with speed and power.

Then, as quickly as it had grown, it lost its vigor, drifting back down into calmed lull until the forest began to still and peaceful once more.

Abel had not moved, steeled against the wind while it sang, then turned against the calm, blue glow that painted the forest patch once it left.

Abel didn’t need to turn around to know that the archangel was there, his towering presence and radiating light more than enough to give him away. And then there was the gentle tug at his Core as well, a fatherly call to his own from the soul-core of the other. Such a touch would always before have him racing to embrace the angel who now stood silently behind him, but now, with the dreadful knowledge he now possessed, he couldn’t even bring himself to give his elder any sort of greeting at all.

 ** _“Abel.”_** The voice rumbled and echoed his name like a gentle wave of the sea, and yet the sound had the Prince ducking his head and halo in an instant flinch, his wings crowding around him against the call. He recognized the tone as well, having heard it many a lonely night or anguished moment. It was a timbre of a warm kind of worry, one that spoke of a deep love and care for the person it called for, comfort and sadness woven within it that reached for him like beckoning arms.

Only now, Abel could hear something else within the voice, something tired . . . or perhaps resigned. A sort of lack of strength.

The sound of it strengthened his fear of the words to come.

Abel’s mouth felt dry and his tongue stiff as he finally gathered the courage to speak, his back still turned to the glowing figure behind him.

“Tell me . . . tell me it isn’t true, Dad.” He pleaded, staring blankly at a knotted tree. He heard crackling from below, the letter in his hand wrinkling and crumbling as he subconsciously crushed it in his tension. The manifested paper soon dissolved into vanishing mist as he continued in the same tone.

“Please tell me this is just some kind of joke.” He waited in silence, hoping against hope that there would soon be a laugh or a chuckle with some sort of “You got me” statement from the angel standing with him in the night.

Instead, the chirping of the forest was his only answer for a long moment, the silence between them growing heavy and pressing, before the archangel’s voice returned, the tired undertone within it growing heavier.

 ** _“You know that I would never jest about such matters. Nor would Gabriel.”_** Abel cringed. A part of the young angel knew that his words were true, had known since the very beginning. He had just hoped . . . hoped and hoped and _prayed_ that that didn’t mean . . .

“Then . . . then you . . . you actually want me to . . .” Abel whispered in a growing horror, his arms coming up to hug himself tight against the storm threatening to break loose.

Daemon was the commander of Heaven’s armies and ambassadors to humanity. Only he had the final say to give an order like this. Abel _knew_ that, but he just couldn’t . . .

He heard a deep sigh from behind, the sound so deflating against the lively activity of the night surrounding them. Then, he felt his father’s presence reach out and wrap itself around his soul like a pair of embracing wings, a familiar attempt at comfort. Abel did not react nor reach back this time, trapped in a growing turmoil as Daemon voiced the very words that still pierced his heart with fear and shock.

 ** _“I am sorry, Abel. You and the other Principalities are to depart from your posts here on Earth immediately and report to the Pearl Gates and to our outposts in Purgatory.”_** His voice was gentle, subdued, and yet it rang with finality and a strange conviction. It was a voicing of the very words that had lunged out at Abel from the hollowing message, threatening to crush the Principality under his own shocked alarm.

Abel moved at last and spun around before the Supreme’s voice could completely fade from the air, his wide, sparking, green eyes at long last locking with the dimmer, unblinking, blue orbs of his grim-faced bloodsire.

Alarm thudding hard in his chest, Abel took a step toward him with his hands and wings flaring about him in panic, his voice ringing out in a desperate argument.

“B-But . . . but I can’t! _WE_ can’t! You taught me that the Principalities were the guides and protectors of the Earth and its people! If we leave now, they will all be in danger! All the animals! The humans! Our own guardians! They could get hurt, or even killed without us to unite and protect them!” He stood with pleading voice and pleading eyes, his very Core reaching out to Daemon’s in a panicked plea for understanding.

Perhaps Daemon didn’t quite understand the danger such an order would create! He rarely involved himself personally in the matters of the Mortal Realm. Maybe he would reconsider!

But then, as Abel watched, his bloodsire only gave him a long moment of silence and a melancholy stare, not a piece of him moving but for the streams of blue light behind him slowly swaying like giant fans of ethereal tails. His elder Core responded to Abel’s, but only to convey a solemn sense of duty infused with his own want for Abel’s understanding.

Such a lackluster reaction from the noble, caring angel stopped Abel in his tracks, his Core going quiet as an awful realization dawned upon him. The confirmation of a truth he had already known, but refused to believe.

“But you . . . already know that.” Abel whispered in a cold shock. He watched with a torrent of horrified disbelief as Daemon took a deep breath of the night air, letting another moment hang silent, before slowly nodding with the exhale, the Supreme leader’s eyes astoundingly lowering from his meeker son’s.

Abel couldn’t stop the bead of betrayal from settling heavily in his soul, taking root within it like a vile parasite.

He couldn’t believe this. _He couldn’t believe . . ._

“Then why? _Why are you doing this?_ ” He asked, his voice almost a whisper as he stared up at his friend and father-figure as if he were a wild stranger. He had known Daemon for centuries upon centuries, and he knew that the chivalrous archangel was not one to endanger innocent lives like this, much less condemn them to slaughter.

What had changed?! How could he do this?!

He saw Daemon’s eyes soften wearily, but his stance became strangely sturdier, straightening and towering before him with an air of sagacity as his wings curled and his halo gave a soft spark. He paused for a moment, seeming to search for the right words, before he began slowly in a soft, teacherly voice, his eyes locking with Abel’s once again.

 ** _“Abel . . . within War, there is always something to be gained . . . something to keep . . . and something to be lost.”_** He calmly took a few steps closer to Abel, his thick armor clicking quietly with the chirps of the forest creatures. He lifted an open, armored palm, his eyes glancing down at it from Abel’s gaze. His eyes grew distant as he watched something invisible upon his palm, continuing in a pensive manner.

 ** _“Sometimes, to lessen what is lost and to keep the promise of gain, one must come to terms with the knowledge that loss itself is inevitable in war, and one must decide on what such loss can be afforded.”_** He spoke somberly, but as his eyes rose back to Abel’s, they held a resolute determination, his expression losing some of its dullness to the flare of a leader’s stern strength.

 ** _“The Heavens as they are now cannot afford to lose more archangels . . . including you. We must regroup and rally our forces together for our defensive measures.”_** He said this with an air of authority and nobility, just as any soldier would with the belief that he was doing what was best. His words were meant to be a lesson and an explanation, as Abel could tell from the years of listening attentively whenever he gave them.

But now, to Abel, his words were not comforting and inspiring, but damning and cold despite the angel’s gentle, acquiescent tone and his despondent expression in the face of his own, spoken words. All the young Principality could think about was the implications of such words, that his own father, the individual he had loved and respected above all others, would even suggest something so horrible.

Abel let his gaze fall, staring unseeingly into the grass stretching across the short distance between them. He began to feel sick as his Core shuddered and rebelled against the very idea of what Daemon was insinuating.

“So . . . you’re saying you are willing to endanger all these people . . . just to keep your best soldiers safe?” Abel asked almost breathlessly, his tone filled with incredulity . . . alongside a hint of biting edge. A flicker of anger alighted in his Core alongside the drop of betrayal, an emotion he had never quite experienced toward the angel before him.

Daemon, for his part, was quick to react to Abel’s blunt question, his faint, full-body flinch telling. He was soon shaking his head at his son’s question, reaching out to Abel as he took another step closer. Abel stayed perfectly still, but flinched when he felt a twinge of pain brush past his Core through its bond with Daemon’s. Instinctively, a part of Abel wished to remedy that pain, his own nature and his attachment to Daemon calling out, but he forced himself to stay still. However, he found it harder to disregard the twinge of pain as it presented itself in Daemon’s voice, a faint echo on the edge of his imploring tenor.

 ** _“No! It is not my intention to protect only those of higher power. I make these efforts to preserve the powers that are VITAL to the protection of these people, of the Earth and of our own. So far, larger groupings have proved to be effective in counteracting our newest threat and our outposts must be strengthened against the demon hordes that are plotting sieges to them as we speak.”_** Daemon explained, the emotion in his voice clearly conveying his need for Abel to understand. His voice turned reassuring as he continued, even attempting a comforting smile as he softened his stressful tone.

 ** _“I can assure you. The humans here will not be left completely unprotected. The guardians will remain and continue to perform their duties to them.”_** He stated, but his words gave Abel little comfort. Instead, the inkling of anger and his mounting distress only increased, his voice heightening as he nearly began shouting at the elder angel.

“But they may not be strong enough to fight the greater demons on their own if they get through! You know that! A-A-And the disappearances! What if whatever is out there is still here and attacks to them too?!” For a moment, the young angel stood staring wildly up at his superior with breaths too quick, his mind racing, before his frantic movements and shrilling voice stiffened, a steely determination suddenly entering his mind.

Straightening his quivering stance, he regarded the other angel with a growing defiance sharpening his eyes, shaking his head furiously.

“No. I can’t leave them in danger like that. It isn’t right!” He exclaimed in a tone touched by righteous fury, his distress and anger growing in his Core and spilling outward.

Daemon’s stature deflated before his eyes. The tiredness lurking in his eyes flooded forth into an almost despairing appearance as he gazed back at Abel like a soldier accepting his fate before the firing squad. Closing his eyes, he next spoke in a voice that reflected his great age, an almost mournful timbre hiding behind its dreariness.

 ** _“You cannot refuse it, Abel. My decision has been made.”_** His tone was grave and his countenance nearly seemed defeated, and yet, for all these worrisome signs, Abel found himself for once unable to notice, or perhaps to distraught to care. Instead, he was powerless to the jolt of fear and anger feeding into the presence of betrayal prickling in his Core, Daemon’s words echoing in his head as his inner panic loudened his voice and tainted his words with disbelieving ire at the one he called ‘father’.

“It’s the wrong decision! I won’t do it! You can’t do something like th—!”

**_“I MUST, Abelaphel! As must you!”_ **

Abel jumped back and froze at the crack of thunder that was Daemon’s sudden shout, the young angel’s impassioned bravo and angry words so quickly lost as Daemon’s eyes snapped open to look upon him as chips of glaring, glowing ice sparking with electricity, his fists curling and his large presence pressing down upon Abel with wings spread. An unpleasant mix of shock and dismay fell upon Abel as his Supreme’s severe glare burned into him, the elder’s enormous patience and composure lost at his bloodson’s continued disobedience. It was a rare thing for the archangel to use Abel’s true name, and even rarer still for him to raise his voice at Abel outside of a shouted order in battle. The mere combination of the two had the younger angel nearly quivering and his eyes watering, fearful that he had crossed some irreparable line.

However, his sprouting despair proved to be short lived.

Daemon’s aggression disappeared as soon as it came, his glaring expression and tense, commanding bearing dropping with a penitent flinch as Abel retreated and cowered before him. His steeled eyes softened before they closed again, the angel taking in a deep inhale before slowly exhaling with a deep frown, seemingly to calm himself.

When he opened his eyes again, Abel saw that they were still hard, still flickering with a frustration that he had caused, but they were protective eyes once again, not aggressive. He paused a moment longer to allow Abel’s own bristling to relax before speaking again, his voice much lower, but laced with a resolute warning.

 ** _“As we speak, our kind is being hunted by an unknown threat, the likes of which we have never seen before. This hidden enemy has already taken far too many with far too much ease and secrecy. Now this threat has taken our own within this realm as well, beyond the very Barrier that stands to thwart Hell and its minions. And so, for the good of all, I MUST take the necessary measures to prevent any further abductions or casualties that could spell doom for us all.”_** He stated his case carefully and calmly, never looking away, and yet Abel could still read the audible hint of dark anger lingering within his tone and in the small curling of his lips, his blue eyes and shining halo still giving off the rare spark.

Abel stood silent and stunned through his words, but his brief freezing of mind and body was quickly thawing from the trauma of Daemon’s anger. Understanding of his words came with it, and so too did the inkling of anger and distrust. His thoughts began rolling with dark, darting images.

Images of an invisible shadow stealing into the home that he had abandoned, killing and dragging off his angels and charges as he stood aside a whole realm away.

Despite the hurt and shame that he felt for inciting Daemon’s anger, despite the reluctance just visible in Daemon’s eyes, despite a piece of him screaming that this whole argument with Daemon felt _wrong and had to stop_ , Abel narrowed his eyes at the other angel, the screams of both angels and humans that he’d lost in the past filling him with terrible visions of the future.

“Even if that means abandoning the ones we swore to protect? Leaving our own friends and family to the mercy of the demons that get through the barrier?” He questioned in a soft, low voice, his tone nearly dangerous as he watched Daemon’s face.

The older angel shook his head as his halo sparked, his expression pulled into one of exasperated dismay as his wing tendrils sank closer to the ground.

 ** _“It is not their abandonment I seek, Abel! I wish to protect a precious many, just the same as you! Yet we are on the verge of a potential crisis. We all have to tread carefully and I must save all that I can, so that many more may be saved in the future.”_** His words were genuine, yet Abel stayed silent, his gaze dropping back to the ground. Frustration bubbled up within him. He just couldn’t understand what his elder meant, how something like this he could be consider a way to keep them all safe.

There was another empty pause between them before he heard Daemon approach, his blue-toned light and shining, armored feet upon the grass meeting his lowered sight.

Abel felt his face twitch and his Core shutter as a heavy hand met his shrouded shoulder, squeezing gently. It was meant for reassurance, he knew, but it only made the anger sprouting within him stronger. He stubbornly kept his eyes on the ground as his bloodsire tried once more to convince him, speaking in a tone that was soft, kind and comforting.

A voice the was just so damn _fatherly_.

For once, it made Abel sick.

 ** _“Your angels are strong, Abel. Trust in them to show their own strength and courage in your stead. Now, please . . . come with me. I promise, we will do all we can to ensure that the Barrier is well guarded and fortified for their safety. Then, once the danger has passed, you and the others will be free to return.”_** Daemon’s other hand rose almost hesitantly, presented palm-open within Abel’s downward sight.

An invitation.

An offered gesture filled with tender hope . . . a hope that was not Abel’s.

“. . .”

The young angel found himself silent for a long time, staring a hole through the armored hand still awaiting his own. He understood Daemon’s words, knew they should reassure him . . . but all he could see were the horrendous things that he had seen in Hell. All the horrible monsters and vile abominations grinning and salivating over the precious souls pulsing just beyond the Mortal Barrier.

The gentle souls and Cores resting within his mortal home, of those he so cared for and protected . . . and they were ripping them from their chests . . . tainting them, crushing them, _devouring them,_ _laughing all the while in fountains of blood and filth over their easy, terrified, abandoned prey._

He had shaken off Daemon’s hand before he even registered himself moving, backing away from the surprised archangel. He felt the twinges of shock and pain and despair run across his Core from Daemon’s, a concerning feeling, but Abel ignored it, ignoring the vibrations of their bond as he turned his back on his adoptive father with fists clenched. He could almost physically feel his pulsing soul harden and grow heavy in his chest, the strange mix of fear, anger, and love within him morphing into a determination that was as strong and as burdening as an iron ball-and-chain.

His angels . . . his friends . . . yes, he trusted them . . . _but he had NO trust for the demons lurking from his past._

And it seemed he could not trust Daemon now either.

“No.” His answer left his mouth quiet and monotone, yet it rang strong with his own, commanding finality. His Core ached deeply, a part of him crying out at the rift so suddenly opening up between them, but this was a line he had to draw.

He drew it for those he swore to protect, from his strongest guardian angel to the smallest, human newborn, smiling up at him . . .

**_“My son—"_ **

_“I said no.”_ He cut Daemon off before the elder could utter another word, the young angel’s voice hard with his want for this horrible argument to end. The feeling mounted with every continued syllable from the older archangel.

He had already made his decision, a choice in fact made years ago with his vows.

Nothing Daemon could say now would change that.

It was silent between them for a long time, nothing breaking this silence but for the cadence of the mortal forest. Abel stood as a statue, reigning in the pain and dark emotions swirling in his chest as he fought against the sensation of Daemon’s eyes boring into his back. Abel just sense through their bond flickers of an emotional storm overtaking the usually calm and flowing presence of Daemon’s soul as well.

Then at last, he heard Daemon take a shuddering breath behind him, a sound that surprised him with how broken it seemed . . . before Abel found himself choking on his own air.

**_“Abel, this is not a request . . .”_ **

The Principality felt his Core stop in his chest and fell like a stone to his stomach at the sensation of energy rising between them, _rising within themselves_. The echo of Daemon’s voice began to pulse around him like a call from the deepest caverns as an ancient power rose and shifted the air, the commanding tone of the Supreme Archangel silencing all creatures as he did the unthinkable.

**_“It is an order.”_ **

Abel gasped as the soundless song burst through his being. Then his Core _sang._

The compulsion hit him like a ram’s charge, rattling his soul in place as his body stiffened under the force. Already, he felt his will beginning to bow and bend under the commanding resonance of his leader’s innermost song, compelled by the sudden desire to join with its unheard tempo and be as one with all who partook in its dance. The ancient, ingrained instinct to merge his will with his fellows took hold and his feet shifted against his own control. His wings began to unfurl for flight and his body was already beginning to follow the steps of Daemon’s dominant will spelled out within his pulsing melody of power and unity.

“ _N-N-Nooo . . .”_ Abel managed to hiss in frightened dismay as his initial shock fell out. He frantically began fighting against the pulling tide, pushing back the enveloping mentality that he had once so welcomed for its comfort, companionship, and its enormous boosts of energy.

Now, he shuddered violently at the feeling. The Unity of angels had so suddenly transformed into a leash right before his eyes, a tightening siren’s call that threatened to choke the life from him as he fought against its strain. His body was trembling as it turned back to his commanding officer, his wide eyes once more meeting with the imposing image of the armored warrior, whose will continued to sing to his own with the intent to overtake.

But the imposing figure he expected was not there.

The shine about Daemon was dimmer when Abel’s rounded eyes took him in once more, his shoulders slumped, his wing tendrils now merged into tightly folded wing silhouettes high against his back, and his face, expected to be hard and cold, was instead incredibly sad and upset.

Any of these signs would have given him pause before, some very worried reflection, but in that moment Abel could only think of the shining glow of power in the Supreme’s eyes, his entrapping song of uniformity humming through Abel’s own body, and the grim frown on his face as his Core’s pulsing notes willed Abel’s wings to prepare for takeoff.

Feeling his own muscles bunch in his legs and wings outside his control, Abel felt his panic swell as his Core fluttered and stuttered to the conflicting beat of their two, combating wills. He could barely breath from the feeling, his resisting will and racing terror quickly growing painful to the point of what he thought a mortal’s heart attack would feel like.

 _Mortals_. . .

His thoughts ran like a whirlwind. If his father was willing to overtake his will like this to force him to leave them behind, there was no doubt he would make it impossible for Abel to return to Earth until he deemed it safe. Abel no longer believed he could convince Daemon to do otherwise. His pleas and words would fall on the deaf ears of the one who had always, without fail, been there to listen.

Now no longer. He would be trapped at Heaven’s Gates no doubt, behind Daemon’s protective walls while his people, the very mortals and angels Daemon himself had long ago chosen just for him, would be left to fend for themselves, left vulnerable to the terrible enemies he knew all too personally, and to a new enemy that no one had even seen or survived.

_Claws ripping through his flesh and tearing at his leather wings, his screams for mercy ignored and laughed upon._

His feathered wings stretched up high above him for a coming downward push, but locked in place as his fight against the unifying song intensified, breathing fast at the horrible memories and thoughts weaving into his fight.

_Blood spewing from the mouths of a mother and son as the disease of a pestilence nest slowly and painfully snuffed out their lives, along with the rest of the bed-ridden occupants of the quarantined tents._

His knees began to bend to the growing hum of the song pulsing from the Core before him, muscles tensing for a push towards the open sky. Abel’s eyes were screwed shut as he battled to keep himself in place and on the ground, battling to ignore the heightening beat bewitching his will.

“N-N-No-o . . .” He stuttered through his gritted, grinding teeth. The beating of his Core synced and skipped out of sync with the controlling song, the need to follow and need to resist battling within him.

_A struggling father chasing his own children with an axe, the silver-tongued demon in his ear dementing his mind with rage and delirium, and feeding on the darkness deep in his soul._

“I-I-I . . .” His fingernails bit into his palms within his tightening fists, a burning hot feeling growing in his chest against the ensnaring connection between himself and his silent bloodsire. He had to stop listening. He had to stop the song!

_The bloodcurdling scream of a defeated guardian angel as her wings were ripped from her spine with a fountain of liquid light by a monstrosity of pulsing hellflesh and serrated teeth._

_Fire._ It felt like his chest was going to burst open in flames as his legs straightened against the call, his wings crimped jerkily down his back out of rhythm, and his hunched over figure rose against Daemon’s command. Inside him, his bond with Daemon pulsed with his traitorous tempo, drawing Abel’s struggling attention to this piece of himself that he had cherished.

_The ringing cries of anguish and grief that followed all the deaths._

_Following all his failures . . ._

His eyes snapped open as the dam broke, flooding his being and slamming down on the singing bond. His crumpled wings sprang out as he heaved and shoved off the Supreme’s control with a furious shout.

“WON’T!!!”

With a snap that was almost audible, the power between them shattered in an instant, Daemon’s soul song shrieking to a stop as Abel ripped back his freedom, a massive door slamming shut on their bond. The archangel flinched back as if physically struck as the wind of Abel’s release blew back his hair and swung at his wings, the glow of his blue eyes vanishing as they shot wide and his pupils shrank in his shocked surprise. For the first time since the formation of their bond, Abel could not feel Daemon with his soul, nor he his. To Abel, the detachment was as hollowing as it was freeing, but it provided more room for his anger to burst through.

Empowered by the bursting fury and burning betrayal, Abel jumped on the chance with Daemon’s stunned state, his free will unhindered and rage spilling out of himself uncontrolled. He snarled up at the stunned elder as his wings and aura flared out in a threatening display.

“Y-You . . .you can’t force me to go anywhere with you! I swore!” He shouted furiously as he marched toward Daemon. With teeth bared, he stared his bloodsire down, glaring up into his wide, shell-shocked eyes as he yelled.

“You were there! I vowed right in front of you! I swore to them AND TO YOU that I’d protect my parish! MY HOME! I swore I’d never let them suffer any of the pain I witnessed in Hell while I was an imp! How could you EVER think I would just leave them behind like that, when I know what the hordes can do?! How could you?!” Abel couldn’t stop himself from screaming and accusing, his vision almost red around the edges. He had not felt his outrage come even close to such heights since the day he destroyed his old tormentor, Uhrnila. The pain of what Daemon had almost done and the immense fear he felt for his charges had successfully set him ablaze.

And all the while, Daemon was backing away as he advanced, his face oddly rife with fear.

The Supreme of all the Archangels! Retreating from him of all people!

It would have been either laughable or concerning, if in the moment Abel had the ability to care. Righteous anger and hurt was all he could feel as he glared up into Daemon’s cowering eyes, slashing the air between them with a hand as he snarled right in his face.

_“I won’t throw any innocent humans or angels to those MONSTERS just so you can play your chess game with Hell!”_

His harsh words echoed through the night and rebounded off the trees for what felt like an eternity within a tense silence. Once it was gone, the only sounds left were the subtle breeze through the treetops and Abel’s rash breathing as he fumed and leered. Even the insects had fallen silent under the invisible waves of power and anger.

The Principality glowered at the silenced, titanic warrior as he stood frozen and petrified within an arm’s reach, his large, wing vines spread wide in alarm and blue eyes staring back aghast. The razor-sharp silence carried on as Abel waited with little patience for Daemon to respond, mentally daring him in his simmering fury to try anything more.

But when Daemon’s frozen stance at last melted away, a stab of wretchedness unexpectedly cut through Abel’s anger at the sight of his father’s astounded expression contorting into that of deep pain, his shoulders and wings collapsing as his shine dimmed even further in his now unconcealed despair. The elder angel stared forlornly into Abel’s challenging glare as his hands lifted from his sides, seemingly to reach out for him, but could only bring them to hover and fidget uselessly between them in uncertainty.

He finally spoke with a voice was as weak and saddened as his appearance, fear adding a little tremble to his once sturdy, rumbling voice. 

**_“Abel . . . t-that is not—"_ **

“ _Save it!_ Just . . . j-j-just . . .!” Abel lashed out immediately with a furious growl, anger still hot, but he failed to continue as his voice broke and trailed off without warning, his body beginning to shake. Startled by the sudden, swell of emotion, the Prince violently turned himself away from Daemon’s miserable expression as he felt his eyes well with tears, a mess of sorrow, hurt, betrayal, and outrage making his chest ache terribly. A sense of loneness growing about him only worsened it all, despite Daemon standing mere feet away. His company had become cold and distant now, the wall Abel had forced himself to build across their bond creating a silent emptiness between them that was almost on par with his life as a friendless demon.

Breathing in a shuddering breath, he fought to keep himself from shedding the lurking tears or making a sound out of line before the archangel, determined to not show any weakness. His fists clenched painfully at his sides in his effort to hold it all in as his twitching wings curled around him, hiding him and his drooping halo as he forced the angry words from his too-dry, tightening throat.

“J-Just go away a-and l-leave me alone.”

Abel couldn’t stand being in his presence anymore. His own emotions felt too wrong . . . with Daemon too much an enemy.

It hurt terribly.

A dreadfully long silence reigned over them once again as Abel’s stabbing dismissal rang harsh and loud in his own head. He felt so conflicted, like his heart was tearing itself apart trying to decide how he should feel beyond his steaming anger. A caring part of him immediately regretted his rash words. An angry part did not. A frustrated piece of himself argued for flying as far away as possible from both _him_ and this horrible fight of theirs. Another begged him instead to turn back around and try reasoning again, for fear of leaving this rift between them irreparable.

All the while, Daemon said not a word, not a sound at all in fact from what Abel could hear. With not a breath nor the faintest rustle of movement, the freckled angel might as well have been standing the woods with a stone statue for all the lack of response.

His internal stalemate and their motionlessness only came to an end with a weak release of breath, spelling the death of the long, bristling taciturnity.

**_“Very well.”_ **

Abel barely kept back his flinch as Daemon’s voice broke through the void of their silence, the pained finality of it not lost on Abel. He felt his Core ache despite his wish for it to remain steeled and indifferent.

In just two words of surrender, his father’s voice had sounded so wounded and frail, a quality that was utterly _wrong_ for a defining voice that had always been so strong and serene. It slipped past his anger and pulled at his heart in the most painful way.

But still, Abel couldn’t bring himself to turn or respond, remaining motionless and silent in unusual stubbornness as he heard Daemon move away. He listened to the slow footsteps as what remained of his tenacious anger and unwanted distrust kept pinned his guilt and worry until the steps finally stopped with another thick lull of quiet.

Then, Daemon spoke once more in that hesitant, wretched tone that Abel was fast coming to hate.

 ** _“I . . . I will spare what archangels I can to assist in your protection. I apologize for my intrusion . . . and for my egregious actions.”_** Abel bit his tongue to keep himself quiet against the horrible feeling welling up inside him. The soft feathers of his rigid wings tightened around the brunette as he fought to keep his fast-cooling anger in the face of the bubbling wretchedness.

He merely continued to listen, his emerald eyes closed against his burning tears and the ever-radiant glow of his traitorous hero on the forest surroundings. He felt the wind gathering, swirling around the spreading wings of light of the angel he had turned his back to. Accompanying the wind, the humming sounds of static radiated from the tendrils of energy that were readying themselves for the climb into the awaiting night sky.

To his surprise and frustration, Abel found himself upset by the notion of Daemon leaving, after such a disastrous meeting. He quickly chastised himself for feeling so, still refusing to give the Supreme a backwards glance.

He had told him to leave, didn’t he? Wasn’t that what he wanted, after what his ‘father’ had tried to pull?

The warm, gentle breeze of the Supreme’s wings swirled around them, refusing to strengthen or weaken for a few moments.

Then Abel felt his irked conviction crumble so easily, faltering under the feel of the soft gaze staring into his back, as Daemon gave his farewell, his voice a washing well of saddened love.

**_“Please take good care of yourself and your home, little one. You and yours are some of the few things I can forever be proud of.”_ **

Abel couldn’t stop himself. The words hit him hard, his body going stiff with stopped breath, before he spun around to face the elder angel, his mouth opening to speak words he had yet to think up.

His voice caught in his throat as strong winds lashed out at his front, forcing him to turn his face away and shield himself against the gusts that flattened the grass and shook the trees. The gales only lasted a few seconds, blowing back Abel’s hair and wings with their power, before they died out in an instant, leaving the forest to settle. Abel blinkingly looked past his lowering arms to stare at the empty, darkened spot where Daemon once stood. Snapping his head up to the opening in the canopy above, Abel caught the sight of Daemon’s shrinking form against the inky blue sky, the radiance of his wings and shining aura painting him like a comet streaking away towards the vastness of space.

Eyes locked on the departing archangel, Abel’s mouth dropped open, ready to call out to him, but any words he might have said refused to leave him, rendering him silent amongst the dark forest. His mouth opened and shut many times in his sudden confliction, but he could only watch as his adoptive father soared farther and farther away.

The sight of him leaving, even at his request, filled Abel with a gnawing sorrow. He found himself desperate to chase after him, regret and fear tugging him upward, but in the same moment, he remained rooted to the spot by the decisions they both had made. 

Tormented by conflicting emotions, Abel stood fidgeting and gaping up to the sky, unable to decide what he should do next. Then, with a faint roll of thunder and a flash like lightening, the decision was made for him, his chance lost.

In the blink of an eye, Daemon vanished from the sky. No sign of the leading archangel remained after his call to the Pearl Gates carried him away, the world he left behind turning along as if he had never existed.

Leaving Abel truly alone.

He stood still for a moment, staring at the spot his guardian was last seen as the forest grew noisy once more. Then the weight of the world seemed to land upon him, dragging down his arching wings and hiked-up shoulders as he gasped. He physically and mentally deflated, his soul aching in response as what had just occurred replayed in his mind.

A great amount of disappointment, shock, and betrayal harassed him as he thought about what Daemon had done and what he had planned to do, the feelings tinged with a still lingering anger. But with those emotions, so too came the shame, regret, and sorrow of his own actions, punctuated by the absolute _loneness_ he now possessed.

He had also done the unthinkable. He had cut himself off from his bloodsire in his act to free himself from Daemon’s command, the connection between them now cold and silent with the soul-deep barrier he had wedged between them.

And that action, all his actions tonight, had hurt Daemon greatly.

He had _heard_ it in fact. He had heard without seeing the sad, tender smile in Daemon’s voice right before he left, the love and truth ringing within those words even as they failed to hide the pain just beyond.

Abel hadn’t been the only one hurt badly from this argument. Daemon may have betrayed his trust, but Abel had forced the chasm wider with his terrible reactions and sudden rage.

Guilt was a familiar wound to Abel, but it now was like a solid stone in his chest, keeping him nailed to the ground even as he wished to fly after his wounded father figure.

But he had made his choice and still he stood by that decision. He would not go back on it even with all the pain; even with the sense that they had both lost something precious this night, an eager companion to his latching guilt.

But the time for action had passed. Both were now on their separate ways, a fact Abel had to come to terms with, as heartbreaking and hollowing as it may be.

Heaving a great, shuddering sigh, Abel lifted an arm to wipe at his eyes, the tears at last running silently down his cheeks. He was suddenly so tired and emotional drained.

There was no point in pursuing now. Daemon was gone and very likely didn’t want to see him. In fact, the young angel wouldn’t be surprised if Daemon stayed away for good.

Abel shuddered, miserable as his silent tears continued to run. Daemon’s goodbye had sounded too much like a final farewell.

A tiny sob managed to escape his chest at the thought and Abel decided it was enough.

Desperate for any sort of escape from the misery building like a coming flood, Abel forced all thoughts of Daemon or his actions aside as well as he could, turning his focus solely on the demanding day to come. Keen to leave this night behind, he stiffly turned away, driving himself to disregard all else as his wings spread wide and launched him from that dreadful clearing and into the free, open air. He stumbled upon the winds at first, the clashing winds of emotion inside him hampering his control over the winds under his wings, before he righted himself with a half-hearted growl. Then, ignoring the shining stars above, he fixated himself on the flickering lights winking just beneath the horizon, redirecting his flight towards them with haste.

He clung tightly to his eagerness to return home, determined to devote all his attention to his cherished city beyond and the people he had chosen over all else.

But no matter how many distractions he tossed around n his head . . . the smiling faces of his friends, his exciting plans, the new, public frescos, the newborn pigeon chicks . . . tears still run cold down his cheeks as a terrible sadness cut a hole in his chest.

Worse still, an old friend had reared its ugly head, its coils pushing back against his efforts to bury the pain.

He never could silence that self-hating voice deep inside.

 _‘This is your fault.’_ it whispered to him as he soared over the treetops, stabbing at his wounded heart as his flowing tears dripped toward the Earth like a rain.

_‘It was your fault.’_ it whispered again, echoing through him and the hallowed chamber. He was powerless to its sway, the only voice that could speak against it now silent and still in his arms.

_Your fault._

They were together again. After so many decades of regret and dejected loneliness, they had finally been reunited.

But Daemon wasn’t here . . .

_YOUR FAULT._

The voice, _his own voice_ , hissed and shouted in his ears and out from his shattered heart, the angel unable to distinguish the words of memory from thoughts anymore.

_How could you?!_

He curled himself tightly into a ball, clenching the large, cold body in his arms as he began to rock.

_J-Just go away!_

_L-Leave me alone!_

His body and wings shook violently, signs he was trembling to pieces.

In his mind, he could see his large form freeze in place, all his grim determination crumbling to dust at his demands.

_Leave._

_Just go._

His breath caught in his throat, choking on his desperate gasps for air that would not come.

He could still see his face, his expression devastated as his blue eyes filled with pain.

_Please._

Shimmering tears flowed hot and fast between his aching cheeks and the soft, white hair pillowing his face. His comforting, agonizing scent was all he could smell, marred by the unwelcome traces of hellfire smoke and copper.

He could see his expression fall and collapse under his unconcealed shame, picturing a horrible acceptance in his eyes weighing down on him as he turned away.

_Don’t._

_Don’t go!_

He could feel himself falling, yet he remained still in place, trapped in a limbo of tumbling and immobility that sent him spiraling through the jagged dark.

He was walking away, his figure fading into the forest of trees before his dimmed wings arched up and shot him into the void-like sky.

_Please don’t leave!_

A wave of dread and misery rippled through him as he screamed for him to come back, to not leave him there alone and scared like before. He tried to fly, to race after him and escape the maw of terrifying loneliness opening up beneath him with shredding teeth, but it was if his wings were made of iron chains, fastened to the ground and around the once protective mass of metal and love that he now clung to for dear life.

The large angel did not come back at his calls. Instead, the black sky swallowed him whole, the chance lost forever. Abel was left alone and afraid, forsaken once again.

_Don’t leave me alone!_

_ALONE._

_He’s not here._

The illusion broke.

All his flimsy denials and hopes at last fell apart under a crashing tide of guilt and desolation, now shattered forever as his soul withered and lost its fight. The delusions fled and reality thrust its spear through him quick and cruel.

If a mere moment, he became silent and still, not a twitch or breath to be found as his murky eyes stared through the sea of pain at his father’s sleeping face.

His friend . . . his hero . . . _his father_ . . . he was never going to wake up again.

_He’s gone._

_Dad . . . is . . . he’s . . ._

The thought shot through Abel like a molten bullet through glass, the last shards of his heart falling into a furious abyss as every muscle tightened and his fiery wings fell to the floor.

_He’s dead._

Abel took in a long, rattling breath . . .

And wailed.

* * *

Time held no power anymore. Like everything else beyond the unyielding walls, it seemed to have ceased existing.

He could have been there alone in the dreadful tomb for mere moments, or for countless centuries. None of it he knew or cared about. The thought of leaving never crossed his muddled mind, not that he could bring himself to do so if it had. All he was able to do was collapse, curling around the empty shell of the angel who had cared far too much for him.

His armored shoulders jerked and his chest heaved with his sobs. Each wail and gasp was so steeped in heartbreak as he hugged his father close, clinging to him like a child tormented by the worst of nightmares. Every breath was a painful, shuddering wheeze and every sobbing cry was wretched enough to crack the most resilient of hearts.

Within his chest, his Core, his very heart and soul, kept beating in spite of its broken pieces, the jagged shards like glass cutting into him with every hiccupping breath. The feeling of every cut, every horrible reminder that he was once again alone, felt like time had turned back to the first days of his Fall, reducing him back to the little, forgotten imp scared and alone and _guilty_ amongst unfeeling stone and whispering disgust.

He had cried alike a throwaway child then, barely more than a newborn in fact at the time in his immortal existence. He had known love and happiness for only a moment, just enough to knew it and need it, before he had naïvely betrayed those who gave it freely to him, dooming them under demon claws. He was cast out soon after, a branded fledgling left amongst the burning rubble with no hope of being found or forgiven.

Now here he was, once again that sobbing, lost child, but clinging not to some make-believe loved one, but to the person who had found him in the end, who had given him the forgiveness and love he had searched so desperately for.

The one who had made him feel wanted again.

He babbled and begged as he remembered the beautiful feeling of being wanted and loved, calling uselessly to the cold body in his arms over and over until his screams and wails at last tapered off, his voice losing its strength.

With the dying of his cries, he slowly fell onto his side upon the dais. Rasping pleas were all he had left as he struggled to breathe with flooded eyes and shriveling lungs, whispering under his breath with each drip of his tears. He pressed himself into Daemon’s side as a fiery wing trembled forth to cover them both, just as he had done centuries ago when he had waited for the same angel to awaken from the aftermath of his Redemption.

He pushed his face into the cold metal of his father’s shoulder as he hid beneath his wing, trying to pretend the armor was warm and comforting . . . if just for one more moment. The false warmth from his ragged breath and the hot flow of his tears almost made him believe it as he squeezed his eyes closed. He let his tears spill and drown his heart in their salty sea, unable to fight against the cold, dark waves. With no energy left, he lay there against the body of his dearest friend and guardian, possessing no desire to get up again.

The last of his mewls and hiccups were slowly being lost forever within the lonely void of the shimmering chamber, his trembling beginning to cease as the waves of pain became the new calm. A cold numbness was taking over and Abel opened his eyes to stare listlessly at the flickering shine reflecting off the polished, dead armor beneath his lighted wing. Slowly, his cries and tremors died down, but his tears persisted, running a never-ending stream down his face to the shining armor. A lifelessness was pulling him under the waves as they leaked from his eyes, burying his thoughts and his very identity in an ocean of darkness as he stared out at a room of light. 

He almost closed his eyes again, the world of the room too radiant next to the painful void in his chest, when his blank gaze caught movement. His eyes automatically tracked the change against the normal motions of the room. He watched, unseeing but staring, as dust rose into the air, sparkling in the skylight before his eyes from over his father’s stilled chest.

He blinked his weeping eyes, the sight of the flecks blurred by his tears for a moment before they sharpened again with the next blink. Silent and limp against Daemon’s body, Abel observed the trickling dots of light with little interest as he pressed his cheek against the archangel’s breastplate. But a nudging feeling in the back of his aching mind prompted him to watch the specks more closely.

Something is off, it whispered.

Staring at the debris as they drifted up and away, another nudge in his thoughts told him that the pieces were too big for dust, too shiny and rising up too strangely to be normal.

The recollection that dust was not a phenomena within Heaven had him lifting his head and his blanketing wing, half-heartedly searching for the source of the strange particles as he sniffled pitifully.

There, he found the twinkling, little lights to be drifting off from Daemon’s right arm, small sections of armor seeming to be peeling away like old paint.

Abel blinked, uncomprehending.

Small bits were crumbling off the archangel’s edges like ash from a black-charred branch, or ice from a massive floe. They rose up into the air similar to a fire’s ember caught in slow motion, and like the glowing spark, they flickered out of existence with a final glint. With each shard that lifted away, the materializing hole in his arm widened, spreading the shadowed emptiness like black mold up to his shoulder plates and down to his hand. Within the darkness of the hole, he could see the blues of the berth’s banners appearing below.

There was a beat of no reaction from the grieving angel, Abel only watching lethargically as the glimmering pieces tore away at Daemon bit by bit.

Then the Prince’s sad, heavy-lidded eyes flew open in shocked realization.

_He’s disappearing . . . he’s fading away . . ._

_He’s leaving . . ._

_HE’S LEAVING!_

The vacuous thought has a splintering crack to his mind, thrusting him out of the cold, oscillating sea of heartache and numbness, and into a nest of roaring flames with a scream.

 _“NO!”_ Abel lunged over Daemon’s body, crashing against it as his Core burst into burning agony once again. The steady fall of tears became a crashing flow once more as he made a desperate grab at the opening hole in his father’s arm. His hands scrambled at the break, covering it and trying to hold the archangel’s arm together. A scared sob bubbled up from his chest as the pieces of light slipped through his fingers like water, the edges of the hole spreading and widening out from beneath his hands unhindered. Catching flickers of light beside him, his gaze snapped to the side to see another hole forming along the archangel’s collar, the little lights taking with them the solid metal, the smooth cloth, and the Supreme’s very flesh. Abel’s hand darted out to the newest hole, but pieces of Daemon still escaped into the swelling air, the uselessness of his effects hitting the Prince like a punch to the face.

A ringing sound began to fill the room, like a shrieking in his ears as he kept trying to hold his father together. Broken by grief and terror, his mind took the chance to torment him as he grabbed at the pieces. It replayed over and over the image of a saddened Daemon disappearing into the night, cutting him again and again as he tried in vain to stop whatever was tearing his father apart.

And each piece took a little bit more of his sanity with them.

His vision was suddenly filled with fireflies as the little lights flew up en masse, the pieces setting fire wherever they landed before they flickered out. The earth quaked as Abel scrabbled up to catch them, his hands clawing at the air and slamming them back down on Daemon’s body. His wings cupped and flapped to push the little lights back, but they only farther drifted away or disappeared within his grasp.

The ringing became a roar in his ears, akin to the screaming of tortured souls, and he felt his pounding, fragmented Core would burst at his continuous failures. Tears dripped down fast and plenty from his face, splashing onto white armor or disappearing into the darkness of Daemon’s horrid, now-expanding, chest wound.

He was losing him, his wild thoughts screamed. The little sparks were taking Daemon from him and setting the world ablaze, pushing him down into his own, personal Hell.

Wild with terror and desolation, shaken by tremors and surrounded by hellfire, Abel could think of nothing more but to jump again at the escaping embers, a distorted boom of thunder lacing across his hearing as his whole chest constricted and burned.

Suddenly, Abel felt his balance tip violently as he swiped at a billowing cluster of sparks, throwing him backwards. An immense force yanked his shoulders back and threw him crashing to the ground, the fires rushing up to devour him.

 ** _“ABEL, STOP!”_** The flames shrieked at him over their own, unending roar. The tongues grabbed at him with hard, searing hands and dragged him away from the berth . . . and away from Daemon.

_NO NO NO NO NO!_

Abel struggled against the hold on his arms as he shoved himself up from the floor, his boots scrapping against the quaking ground as he clawed the air reaching for Daemon. Already, a large part of the Supreme’s chest was gone and his armored feet were beginning to vanish, consumed by the light and flames. Around him, the soft, comforting blue of the chamber was rippling and tearing under claws of gold and crimson light, painting the room with writhing veins of hellish yellow and red.

Abel thrashed within the maddening colors. Even as his arms were wrenched back, he dug in his feet and took a step closer to Daemon with a scream. His wings expanded and flapped wildly for escape, pushing back the flames, before the burning tongues latched strong arms around his arms and chest, clamping his wings between his back and a hard, solid mass.

 ** _“URI . . . HOLD . . . GET . . .-DATIVE!”_** The inferno roared fiercely right into his ear, its furious bellow flickering, broken, yet commanding.

But no matter what the fires shrieked, Abel kept his fraying attention on his body, ever on his beloved father. Surrounding his body, Abel’s blown, feral eyes could only watch as stone angels slumped and lurched forward amongst the blaze, steam and flame lifting from their arms as their glittering, shriveling rosary vines fell away with a sizzling mutilation of moans and whispers. Together, they fell with their pillars like creatures coated in slime, their bodies melting and warping as their deforming wings devastated the supports of the pavilion. With skeletal, dripping fingers, they reached out for Daemon with new expressions of screaming pain and pleading anguish.

Seeing the horrid specters hovering over his vulnerable bloodsire, Abel howled and threw himself against the cruel flames holding him in place, still dragging him further and further away from the one who needed him . . . the one he needed most.

_DON’T TAKE HIM AWAY!_

**_“RAPH—”_ **

The whole room was melting before Abel’s eyes under the bleeding colors of the room, the pavilioned center seeming almost to be shrinking. Yet still, he fought and flailed himself and his mind to pieces, desperate to dive into the mad fray no matter the burning, melting world and return to his bloodsire’s diminishing side.

He could see half his body was already gone, the glaring embers burning him away into nothingness within a scene of a madman’s raging abstract.

_PLEASE!_

Abel’s wings thrashed and billowed in their pinned state, hammering against their restraints and into whatever vile creatures sought to chain him further. Heat exploded at his back and the solid mass behind him hissed and growled.

 ** _“BROTHER!”_** The demented roar bounced off of Abel’s witless mind, ignorant to the word or its emotion. All he cared about was the man lying still upon the berth, his sleeping face breaking into pieces as his son watched in mindless horror.

 _PLEASE_ _DON’T LEAVE ME!_

As the empty cracks laced across the face he had loved so much, great voids raced across the space around them both in turn, the splitting cracks burrowing through marble and air reflecting the damage each stolen piece of his father inflected on the son’s soul.

The roaring and screams of the chamber’s chaos was joined by an ungodly, quaking din, stringing together the uproars into an apocalyptic ballad.

**_“. . . WARPING . . .-LEUM!”_ **

Abel didn’t care for any of it. Nothing else mattered, _nothing_ _at all,_ but the demand to keep all he that had left whole and safe and _alive_ and _with him_ and—

Sharp pain cut off his looping thoughts like the sting of a demon manticore, stabbing into his neck and putting a break in his rabid struggle. He felt the pain of his ravaged throat as he let out a savage screech, the holds on his arms tightening as he tried to reach for the source of the pain.

The piercing agony of it lasted for only a moment, a pulse of jarring wrongness racing through his limbs, before a heaviness invaded behind it. The last of his struggle became futile as the feeling like lead sinking into his arms and legs pulled him to the ground, his body slumping without his permission. The twisting, flaming room blurred and swirled before his eyes, distorting his view of the last of Daemon. He narrowed his eyes, straining to focus, but he fell back into the grasp of the flames with a bout of dizziness, granting him a spinning view of the ceiling before his heavy eyes closed against the nausea. He whimpered against the feeling, his body going limp against the ground as his throat burned, his head spun, and his chest throbbed.

Yet still, the desire and terror remained, screaming at him to get up and stop whatever was happening to his dad, to continue to fight the cruel world that was trying to steal him away.

He slammed a heavy hand to the ground, growling weakly as he tried to push himself up despite the drowsiness seeping into his bones.

He couldn’t afford to stop.

_It hurt . . . so much worse to stop._

**_“Be still, Abel.”_ **

And yet, the young angel stopped dead.

His soul ceased its broken beats within that moment, his entire body freezing in place upon the cold floor. Enthralled by the resonant words, he listened until its very last fading echo with desperate disbelief.

Only then did he notice that the world had quieted from its enraged insanity. No furious roars or anguished screams split the air. No harrowing thunder. No booming cracks or crashes.

Only his voice. His deep, gentle, _fatherly voice that he had only just fully believed he would never hear again._

Abel slowly opened his tired eyes spilling with tears.

“Da . . . D-D-Da-Dad?”

Darkness crept at the edges of his vision and his eyes couldn’t focus behind the layers of drowsiness and tears. Yet beyond the blurs and spins, he saw it. The shine of pale armor, glistening in shades of blue. Something shifted around him, _arms shifted,_ and pulled him closer, pressing his flushed face into cool and warm metal.

Above him, a hazy head appeared, surrounded by white hair. A glim of sky blue flashed from the eyes.

Abel let out a sob, his limp hands moving to clench onto the armored arms that cradled him.

He didn’t understand what has happening, but he found he didn’t care.

He needed him to be there.

**_“Sleep, my little one. Just sleep.”_ **

The Prince shook his head drunkenly at the soft command and the gentle strokes to his hair, his expression scared and sunken with lingering misery. What relief he might have felt at the sound of his voice and his presence was crushed beneath fear and sorrow.

He could see him clearly in his mind, looking back at him with hurt and dejection, then turning away as his own, harsh voice pushed him away that night.

Abel’s head lulling weakly against the archangel’s chest, his tongue felt thick and heavy, as if no part of him wanted to move. Nonetheless, he forced the broken whimpers out, reaching up with a trembling hand as his tears mixed with his skipping sobs.

“N-N-Nooo-oo-oo, p-p-plll-e-e-assseee . . . p-p- _pleas-se_ _d-d_ ** _on’t g-g-ggooooo . . .”_**

A deep echo began to enter Abel’s quaking voice, developing a tone that matched the powerful resonance of the beloved voice above him, but he took no notice at all. He merely blinked his now glowing eyes, trying to see his father’s face, but the darkness was creeping in through the muddy colors and shapes, scaring him even more as the image of the mighty angel began to fade.

He mewled pitifully as the darkness began ruthlessly pulling him under, taking the angel with it as he moved further and further from Abel through a stretching tunnel of night. Fear gripped the Prince’s fragmented mind as the deep-seated guilt and remorse beat within his Core.

He didn’t want him to leave. He never meant to make him leave!

Letting out a heaving sob, Abel nuzzled his face into the armor plating and tried to cling to the feeling of warm, living armor curled protectively against him, wishing to never let go.

Yet still, Daemon was disappearing into a sea of night, leaving him alone in the dark forest as he wept and cried out his despair.

 ** _“I-I-I’m s-s-s-sorr-r-rry! I-I-I’m . . . . s-s-sor . . . rrry . . .”_** The last flashes of Daemon disappeared into the warm void of Abel’s mind as the black night at last took the Prince away. His child-like, heartbroken cries faded into nothing, his feeble fight against unconsciousness lost. With the last, slurred syllable, the Supreme’s little Prince fell totally limp within the lap of the other, surrendered at last to a more peaceful oblivion.

Shifting the heavy, armored Prince in his arms, the stern General of War looked down gently upon his slumbering nephew through a curtain of his long, silver hair. His stony, ember gaze flashed blue in the streaming light of the chamber as they stared at Abel’s tear-stained face, the fire-orange orbs soft, but dark with gloom and sympathy.

Michael had never been one for hugs, nor for any form of physical affection or comfort, but the hardened warrior couldn’t bring himself to do any less in this moment. Cradling the smaller angel close, he stroked his adoptive nephew’s messy hair one more time as he closed his eyes with a sigh, whispering with sadness.

**_“I know, Abel. I know.”_ **

Beside him, Gabriel sat on his knees with his sorrowful, white eyes locked on the boy’s pained, tearful face, silent tears streaming down the bronze skin of the messenger lord’s face. The red-robed archangel only ripped his watery gaze away from their little nephew to stare forlornly at his brothers, mouth opening to speak, but unable to utter a single word.

After what he had to do, mimicking Daemon’s voice as his own like that, even for Abel’s benefit the action had been too soon for his own grief, the chatterbox of an angel silenced completely by his guilt and sorrow at the sound of his dead brother’s vocals upon his own tongue. Grieved and exhausted, the smaller of the Four Winds leaned heavily against his black-winged brother as he wept in silence.

Uriel leaned back against him as he sat upon the broken floor, for once at a loss on what to do as he let the empty syringe fall carelessly from his hand and fade into vapor. His eyes flowed over Abel’s unconscious form and the rest of the room, his face pained and frightened as he took in every, disastrous detail, before meeting Raphael’s sorrowful gaze. Despair and apprehension swam in the dark, lavender sea of the researcher’s eyes, but so did flickers of reproach as he stared down his brother laying on Michael’s other side.

Raphael took his brother’s stare with no fight, taking whatever blame he deserved without question. Instead of keeping his stare, he looked away and slowly pulled himself closer to Michael’s side, his burnt hands and feathers flaring with healing aura as he distracted himself with tending to where Abel’s wings had melted Michael’s flesh and silver-and-gold armor. His stoic brother barely registered the pain of the extensive wounds, nor the feeling of his brother’s healing energy washing over him. All four of them had been injured or burned in some way during their struggle to calm and contain Abel, but none of them cared to acknowledge their own wounds. Neither did they hold any blame or anger in their Cores towards the young angel for the damage done, be it to themselves or the structures around them.

Abel’s new, uncontrolled power had sown chaos and ruin upon the once the beautiful Resting Chamber, nearly bringing down the entire mausoleum tower with it.

The once finely detailed walls of breathing, stone feathers had been reduced to a layer of flaking stone like hardened lava flows, short ropes of the melted wall pooling over the shattered floor like wax. Massive cracks ran far and deep like blackened roots across the ruined marble and stone, splitting open the walls and ceiling to rain down chucks of blackened rubble now scattered in mounds upon the ruined ground.

The center pavilion was also nearly collapsed, the roof caving in where the pillars had melted or cracked into piles of rubble. The stone angels that had once prayed and watched over the tomb as these pillars were now little more than mounds of hardened, molten stone, their features gone and their figures barely recognizable beyond their ruined hands reaching out into the light. The rosary vines that once decorated them and stored the prayers of other angels were gone, as well as any banner cloth or talismans. All burnt to ash in the holy fires that had only moments before consumed the entire room.

Anything had been reduced to ruins or had been destroy in the violence explosion of grief and terror. What had once shined, and been precious and beautiful now lay shattered and blackened beyond recognition.

_I-I-I’m s-s-s-sorr-r-rry!_

Michael winced, his massive, golden wings curling around them both protectively at the memory of Abel’s whimpers. He lifted his head slightly to share a meaningful glance with all three of his brothers.

_We know . . ._

As if they had shared the same thought, the four generals all looked back to the room’s very heart, gazing mournfully at the source of all the pain.

In the middle of grief’s devastation, the dais where Daemon had lain at rest now stood broken and empty beneath the collapsing remains of the rotunda. The heavenly light of the tower still drifted down from the crumbling opening above, but only to greet a world of loss and regret.

At the edge of the streaming light, a great sword could be seen laying glimmering under the rubble, forgotten and alone; the only piece left of their dear brother, just like the broken angel who lay dreamless between them.

Michael bowed his head and gritted his teeth in shame as he hugged his nephew closer. His brothers leaned in close, sharing their warmth and comfort together as they watched over their Prince and Supreme.

**_“We all are.”_ **

_. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ._

_. . . . . . . . . . . . ._

_. . . . . . . . ._

“I don’t think I can do this.”

The noble archangel turned his head as he lay tranquil upon the large snowdrift, redirecting his steady gaze from the glittering cosmos and dancing lights above to the owner of the scared, little voice. The dozen, glowing ribbons of his wings, lazily shifting across the glittering slopes of snow, twitched as one as their master spoke softly under the rich-smelling pines reaching for the painted night sky.

**_“Do what, Abel?”_ **

Beside him, his young bloodson sat hugging his legs to his chest as he stared into the rolling snowdrifts beyond the forest’s edge instead of the sky, watching the ethereal lights above tint the rolling, white landscape with their shifting colors. Despite the beauty spread before him, the older angel could see the young fledge grimacing with an anxious, almost frightened look. His restored wings, once torn and bat-like now the smooth vans of a spotted pigeon, fluffed out their feathers and hunched themselves high against his shoulders in a sign of unease.

Abel was silent for a moment, staring at the scenery without really seeing it, before he answered in a voice just as small and unsure.

“All of it . . . becoming a Principality . . . being a leader. It just feels like so much.” With every word, he curled in on himself tighter, as if trying to hide from the future itself. The archangel beside him tilted his head inquisitively, but held silent and relaxed, knowing that there might be more the smaller angel needed to say.

He was not disappointed when Abel unfurled himself a bit, his gloom broken momentarily by slight alarm as he at last met his bloodsire’s patient gaze with a quick amendment.

“I-I mean, I know you’re going to help me with the rest of my training . . . a-and so are my . . . uncles . . .” The freckled young man glanced away with an unsure, pondering look when he mentioned his new uncles, still not quite used to the fact that he now had them as family members.

His eyes snapped back to his adoptive father’s and he continued his explanation, unfurling from himself even more and waved his hands in the air in a repealing gesture.

“And Hans is a great teacher and his city is amazing! Honest!” His voice rose over its muttering volume as he needlessly tried to convey his honesty and genuine gratitude, but it soon fell again with his darkening eyes as he looked away, once more hugging himself while a hopelessness settled over his small form.

“It’s just . . . I’ve never been in charge of _anything_ before, let alone other people.” His voice was small again as he rubbed his arm nervously. Daemon made no move and said not a word, but continued to watch him steadily, letting him put everything out in the open at his own pace. He saw Abel shiver, but not from the cold of the snowy taiga. The angel’s mottled wings came forward and wrapped around him in a familiar, comforting tack, before he continued on fearfully, his eyes widening as a hint of wetness strengthened their emerald shine. He shook his head.

“I . . . I don’t think I’d be any good at it. What if I mess up? What if no one wants to listen to me . . . o-o-or someone gets hurt because they did? What if I screw everything up and I can’t fix it?” Panicked dread quickened his words and shuddered his breath. He fell silent as he buried his face in his arms, his wings coming up to hide his head from view. Nevertheless, Daemon heard a small whisper from him, muffled and weak, yet clear under the silent, winter night.

_“I don’t want to let you down.”_

The tendrils of blue lightening halted in their sways and stray sparkles zapped the snow from the warrior’s hovering halo. They both were silent and still together under the stars, the older of the two staring at the younger’s cowering with searching eyes filled with surprise.

Then, as the energies of Heaven continued to dance with the forces of Earth in rivers of color, the Supreme removed his hands from his chest and pushed himself up, turning towards his son. The tendrils of blue light were set back into motion as they drifted forward and curled around Abel’s wings and arms, gently prying them away as their master moved to kneel before him.

One wing tendril slipped beneath Abel’s chin and lifted his head, bringing his watery eyes up to meet the serious, yet understanding sky-blue eyes of his father figure. The lights of the sky flittered across his snow-white hair and gleaming armor as his voice rumbled smooth and weighty in the cold air.

 ** _“Abel. I want you to listen to me very carefully.”_** The angel sniffled a bit, but kept his sad eyes locked on his friend and now father, his full attention granted. Said friend and father shook his head with a quiet sigh.

 ** _“I will not lie to you. The burden of power is not easy to carry for one with a righteous heart.”_** Daemon began, a small frown present on his face. The seriousness of his voice was enough to convey his honesty and Abel swallowed thickly as continued to listen. The archangel looked him right in the eye with a sincere, blunt tone of voice.

 ** _“You are going to struggle . . . and it would be foolish to believe you will make only a few mistakes, or none at all.”_** The freckled angel’s eyes quickly fell from his father’s and into the shadowed snow, every word increasing his gloom as the older male continued to confirm his worst fears.

 ** _“There will be times when you will doubt yourself. You will have to make decisions where there may not be a right answer, and the consequences of your choice could be great. There will be many who will come to rely on you for strength and wisdom, some for their very lives, and that knowledge will come to weigh on you heavily.”_** Abel could feel the weight already, he realized, promising to crush him if he made any attempt to bear it in full.

 ** _“In truth, leadership can be one of the hardest roads that one can trek.”_** His body was ready to curl up in a ball and disappear under the words, completely daunted by a destiny that had been unexpectedly dropped onto his shoulders.

 ** _“However . . .”_** The graveness in Daemon voice dropped in one word, surprising Abel with its sudden warmth and uplifting tone. A large hand settled on his shoulder with a small squeeze and Abel’s eyes lifted back up to see his face, surprised again by his soft smile and awe-filled words.

 ** _“When you take your place as a leader, you will not claim it alone . . . and it can become one of the most rewarding journeys you could ever take.”_** With his kind smile widening with the return of Abel’s gaze, he continued to explain as the smaller angel listened intently, the younger’s expression one of confusion as well as interest.

 ** _“A leader cannot exist without their people, and they will all be there to guide you just as well as you will guide them. It is a partnership in which you will come to rely on one another. Where you falter, they will be there to offer their assistance. Where they fall into chaos and disorder, you will be there to remind them of all you have learned, and give them the comfort and stability they require.”_** He moved his supportive hand from Abel’s shoulder and placed it on his chest, right above his purified Core. He flashed the young fledge a grin as Abel glanced between him and his hand.

**_“In essence, you will be their heart, the unity between them so that all may grow and prosper together, including yourself.”_ **

Abel stared at him with a pondering look for moment. Then, a small smile began to appear on his lips. his expression brightening with a seeding sense of relief. Some of the weight seemed to lift from him, making him look more confident than he had for the past few days.

Until his smile fell as fast as it had appeared, doubt and apprehension quickly breaking down his meager hopes as he grabbed Daemon’s hand in his. He broke eye contact and stared down at their hands, gripping Daemon’s as if the archangel would snatch it away.

“That . . . that does sound a bit better . . . but I could still make the wrong choices! I’ll listen to the wrong person o-or the wrong advice and then someone will get hurt and I . . . it-it’s happened before . . .” Daemon’s eyes saddened at the scared tremor in Abel’s voice as he referred to his regretful past, but his gentle smile remained. Turning his hand to take Abel’s in his, he slowly began to pull him up to stand from his curled position as he softly gave his wisdom.

**_“I know you have been laid astray in the past, but do not let it make you afraid to doubt. A leader who questions nothing is racing towards his downfall, but one who questions everything will remain stuck in place. It is a balance you keep steady when you lead others upon it. Ask for help and wisdom when you feel it is needed and you will find that balance."_ **

“But what if—”

Daemon stopped him with a quick shake of his head while he pulled the uncertain fledge to his feet, Abel’s wings crowding around himself as if still in an attempt to hide.

 ** _“Ah, do not let yourself fell into that endless hole of what-ifs. There will be mistakes, Abel, but do not let yourself regard every choice as one you will fail. Think of the choices that have brought you here.”_** The Supreme of Archangels gestured to the land and the sky above as he continued to cradle Abel’s hands in the other, pleased when Abel’s eyes followed his movement to take in the Earth and Heavens spread before him in welcome within that serene, peaceful moment.

A moment that the newly-redeemed angel had dreamed he would be welcome in for so long.

 ** _"Remember the choices that have made you stronger and wiser, happy and content. Remember what you have learned from your past triumphs and mistakes, and know that you will continue to learn and better yourself as you carry on. Do not be afraid of the decisions to come and their difficulty, Abel. Just as there can be consequences, there can be great things that can be born from them as well. Very great and wonderous things.”_** A fond, deeply affectionate light entered the archangel’s gaze as he watched Abel’s shine once again at the sight of the sky, staring at it as if for the first time as Daemon’s words sank in. A warmer tenor entered his echoing voice as he let its volume drop to a softer octave with a weaker smile.

 ** _“For instance, my decision to let myself trust in you was one of the hardest I have ever had to make. Many things could have gone wrong.”_** The young angel’s eyes snapped back to his in a heartbeat, surprise and a bit of sadness from the past painting his expression. However, his adoptive father completely blew away the pain of the past when he gave Abel a look filled with nothing but relief and happiness, his voice thankful and filled with honesty.

 ** _“But I am forever grateful to have been given the chance to make it.”_** A blue tendril drifted up before the stunned angel could react and ruffled his hair in a surprise move, catching him off-guard. Abel was forced to duck his head and move away, and Daemon let him go with a chuckle. The old warrior was immensely delighted when he successfully pulled a little laugh from the boy as he quickly retreated through the snow, static from the electrical wing making his messed hair stand on edge. The archangel let out another chortle as the angel worked hastily to smooth his short locks back into order, using his feathered wings as a shield from any more attempts at his head.

Daemon was even more glad to find under the feathers a smile upon his young one’s face, and a playful gleam back in his strikingly green eyes.

The large archangel relented with his tendril wings, allowing Abel to lower his shield of feathers. He gave the young angel his own playful smile as he lifted a brow in mock disapproval.

 ** _“Truly, little one. You already have the makings of a born Prince. You have thus far proven so much. Shall I list them?”_** Abel started at Daemon’s words, his smile wavering as the Supreme putting his hand behind his back and began to circle him, wearing a grin that the angel wasn’t sure he liked.

“Wha—”

 ** _“You, Abel, have shown to be courageous and true of heart, with a talent for sheer determination in the face of challenge and impossibility.”_** The impressed, admiring tone in his friend and father’s tone sent a blush straight to his freckled cheeks, his hand rising to rub his arm meekly in embarrassment. His lips twitched as Daemon’s wings brushed past him, his smile threatening to grow despite his awkwardness.

“I—”

 ** _“You are also showing to be an excellent student. You are eager to learn, patient, attentive, and you have displayed a great understanding towards others and their ideals. Hansael and his bloodsire, Drossel, have praised you so, and my brothers have already given their own good words as well.”_** As Daemon slowly paced around him with his delighted smile and mischievous gaze, Abel promptly attempted to hide beneath his wings again, his cheeks and eyes burning. He was still not used to receiving honors and praise, so Daemon’s words and the

Daemon continued on almost to the point of cruelty in Abel’s opinion, his eyes soft and grin wide as his wing strands brushed reassuringly through his feathers while he circled back around.

 ** _“There is also your natural instinct to defend and care for others, both through your words and your actions. You see the good in others when they may not see it in themselves, and you fight to prove it true . . . to show them their chance for redemption.” _**Abel’s low, embarrassed whine stopped on Daemon’s final word, the meaning behind it crystal clear. Slowly opening his now tightly closed wings, Abel peeked out to see the towering angel stopped before him, the mischief gone from his eyes and replaced by gentle compassion. His wings swayed in the artic breeze as they reached for the sky and as he held his arms out to his son, looking just as he had years ago when he had given Abel the imp his very first chance.

 ** _“Do you see, Abel? You have everything you need to begin . . . all that is left to move forward . . . is a leap of faith.”_** As his words faded into the night, the great archangel held out his arms and waited, his patience and kindness ever present. Abel stared at him astonished, a light brush still present on his face, but now the tears that had been hinted before were gathering in his eyes’ corners. There was only a moment’s hesitation before he launched into his armored chest, hugging Daemon tightly as the elder’s arms came around him, followed by the vines of warm lightening.

Abel sniffed and let out a small, watery laugh, letting himself enjoy the comfort of warm metal and deep, softened chuckles.

Daemon held him close in arms and wings, determined to ease the last of his adoptive son’s worries through his protective embrace. He let him stay there for as long as he needed until the angel at last pulled out of his embrace, stepping back to wipe at his eyes with his sleeve.

Letting Abel have a moment, Daemon gazed kindly down at him before turning and lifting his head up to the sky. With the breeze picking up in strength, the archangel breathed in the playful, night wind deeply as it ruffled his hair and flicked his cape, looking up at the mantle of Creation swirling eternally above them both. He watched the frolicking currents of light and the great reef of winking stars as if they held a vision of the future before his eyes, and he nodded to himself with a smile.

 ** _“Yes, you would make a fine leader, indeed.”_** Once again, Abel looked up at him in surprise. After a few moments of stunned staring, his small smile grew, eyes sparkling again.

“Y-You really believe that?” He asked breathlessly, still processing everything his father had said thus far.

Daemon turned back to him with absolute confidence and trust reflecting in his eyes and flowing through the connection between their souls.

 ** _“Abel, I know that you will.” _**The warm rumble keen with certainty widened Abel’s smile into a grin, his wings fluttering happily. Some hesitation still tinged his every other glance, but a new hope had brightened his countenance, his drooping halo bouncing back into shining radiance and his Core beating its song steady and strong.

Together, they returned to their gazes to the heavens above, silently observing the sketching stars and the painting lights. Side by side, Daemon fell back into a calm mediation as Abel became lost in thought, studying the green and blue ripples in the sky as he took the moment to ponder all that had been said.

Feeling himself relax fully for the first time in what felt like weeks, Abel stretched his restless wings and moved closer to the taller angel, basking in his calming presence.

“Thanks, Dad. I . . . I needed that.” He said softly, glancing over from the night sky to the archangel’s face as his Core sent a happy ripple of gratitude. The Supreme glanced back and broadened his tranquil smile, his own Core sending back a caress of affection through their young bond.

“Heh, I guess that’s something I can count on when I become a Principality.” Daemon glanced at him, an eyebrow arched.

 ** _“And what is that?”_** The archangel inquired with playful interest.

Abel grinned at him, opening his wings again to brush affectionately against his father’s.

“That my dad always being there to give me a good pep talk when I’m down.”

Daemon only just opened his smiling mouth to gladly reply when his grin suddenly sank. A hesitant look pulled the contentment from his face and he looked away, becoming silent and frowning at the white landscape.

A prickle of unease bristled the hairs and feathers at Abel’s back as he felt his momentary joy drop back into uncertainty. Fighting to keep himself from instinctively hugging and curling in himself at the scared feeling sinking in, Abel shuffled closer, trying to see Daemon’s face as he worriedly searched for an answer to the sudden mood shift.

“W-What? Can’t I?”

The great archangel heard the return of confusion and doubt in the young man’s voice, but didn’t move or respond for several long seconds, causing Abel’s fragile sense of ease to crumble even further. When he finally looked is way again, he did so while looking him straight in the eyes, not hiding, but not speaking out loud the honest truth that darkened his eyes and made his soft-spoken words bittersweet.

**_“Yes . . . yes of course you can, Abel. For as long as I am able.”_ **

Several emotions fleeted across Abel’s face at those words as Daemon watched; disappointment and puzzlement, then anxiety and alarm turning into dread and fear. The young angel promptly dropped his gaze once again to the ground as his expression contorted with his emotions. Unable to fight the urge any longer, his arms and wings came up to hug himself close, to make himself smaller in old habit to fear and expectance of pain.

“O-Oh . . .” The bloodsire immediately winced at the sound of his son’s shrunken voice and the sight of his downtrodden reaction.

His own reaction was instant and instinctive, reaching out from the deepest levels of love and devotion within his honest soul.

Daemon moved forward and embrace his son once more, but held him this time firmly and tightly. His smoky vans of threaded lightening drifted forward and curled around the smaller angel, hooking over his pigeon wings and curling gently around his neck and torso.

As Abel quickly responded with a hug just as fierce, the Supreme’s Core, his heart and soul, reached out its song and embraced his son’s like an extra pair of warm, protective wings, conveying to him as much of his fatherly love and reassurance as their newly-formed bond could hold.

Holding him to his chest, Daemon made sure his voice and soul were one in the same in their love and sincerity as he made his vow on a comforting, low voice.

**_“Little one, I can promise you. No matter what the future holds . . . you will always have my love and support as the father you chose me to be, now and forevermore. And as long as you wish it of me, I will be close at hand . . .”_ **

Daemon swore it to Abel and he swore it to himself as the redeemed angel, _his son_ , clung to him as if he would disappear, listening to him as Heaven and Earth danced and the night eavesdropped.

He swore it as their souls beat together as one, forever bound by blood and by the love of parent and child.

**_“In one way or another.”_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much, Freckle, for indulging me on this whirlwind fantasy of ours. :)
> 
> May the ideas and stories for this epic tale always bring us pleasure and pain.


	4. *EXTRAS*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deleted scenes/memories that didn't make the cut for the final chapter (hurt the story's flow too much).
> 
> Enjoy!

(Sleep + Garden of Eden)

There had been so many sunset nights, so many spent surrounded by the curtaining branches of a large, star-weeping willow, or upon a cushioned, ivy-coated balcony overlooking the heavenly city, glimmering among the endless sea of galaxies, clouds, and the warm, soft glow of a continuous sunset.

Whether a night spent alone had become too much to bear, the nightmares too much, or he had simply preferred not to rest on his own, it never mattered. No matter the case, the nights he spent in his father’s comforting presence always held a sense of warmth and safety the likes of which he had only ever dreamed about during his time as a demon. Compared to those centuries of fitful sleep spent alone and terrified within the Burning Hells’ smallest, most well-hidden cervices, resting at Daemon’s side, nestled under Heaven’s beauty and the warm light of his bloodsire’s wings, whether it was just the two of them or surrounded by other sleeping angels, was pure bliss to Abel. 

He would fall asleep to the feeling of love and protection, completely content pressed against his bloodsire’s armored side, and the nightmares would not touch him, leaving his slumber deep and relaxed.

Nothing else had ever felt more like home. Like he belonged.

One memory flew to the forefront of his racing mind. It was the first time he had awoken from one such peaceful sleep to find himself sprawled across Daemon’s back, his elder’s armor seemingly as comfortable to rest upon for a sleeping Abel as the nest-like cushioning beneath them. The moment he realized where he was, he had moved to carefully slip off without waking Daemon. However, he soon found the long, warm tendrils flowing under him and out at his sides quickly wrapping around him, swiftly flipping him over and gently immobilizing him, wings and all as he yelped in surprise.

He remembered himself giggling and demanding to be set free as Daemon slowly pushed himself up and onto his feet, fully awake and pretending to be unaware of Abel hanging from his back as he rolled his shoulders and stretched out any stiffness from his limbs.

Another bolt of pain ripped through Abel’s Core as he recalled Daemon’s deep, kindred chuckle rumbling from behind him as Abel himself had burst into laughter from his tendril-tickled sides, the large angel walking off with his giggling, full-grown son strapped to his back all the way the morning gathering.

More memories with Daemon swiftly followed after, of peaceful slumbers and relaxing, lazy days. Of days of shy interactions with other angels at Daemon gentle prodding and of days spent crying in his arms when Abel’s past became too much for him or other angels to ignore.

In each one, Abel could remember the calmness and contentment that would warm his Core with every encouraging word and comforting hold from his father. He could remember feeling his father’s Core responding in kind during those times, radiating a peaceful tone as they relaxed under Heaven’s light together, or a nurturing warmth as Abel trembled with nerves or fear under his wings.

He couldn’t feel that peace now. The lack of that familiar warmth was ironically like a hot torch to his ragged Core, searing across his mind as his body and wings coiled tighter around Daemon. But despite the hot sting the memories inflected, they kept coming, his mind clawing though them like an animal desperately trying to escape a bottomless pitfall.

Memories of lazy days shifted to ones of joyful games and races. Of exploring and adventures filled with wonder and excitement. 

One such memory flashed before his tightly closed eyes, briefly eclipsing all others. Abel barely held back his sobs.

It was the first time Daemon had taken him to the First Garden, the place where Creation began. It was a sacred place both heavenly and earthly, both ethereal and mortal. It was a world unlike anything Abel had ever seen before, and yet he found so many of the details and feature familiar. He supposed it made sense, given all of Creation, including Heaven and Earth, began there.

It was a realm of power and beauty, protected and maintained nearly as diligently by Heaven’s agents as the Mortal realm was.

And within in this place, Daemon showed him so many wonders.

And one of the first was of his bloodsire’s most treasured allies within it.

There had been at least two dozen of them, figures of pure white materializing out of the lush, towering green of the enchanting forest at his father’s call.

They had been of many sizes and ages, their equid figures far bigger and lither than any Abel had seen existing on Earth. Their fine, white coats had shimmered and glowed blue in the early dawn light as they approached, their graceful strides gliding them across the grassy clearing. Manes and tails, like waves of drifting spider silk dewed with tiny stars, danced through the air as if through water, floating and curling with each trot with seemingly no indication of gravity.

And upon their long foreheads, each had a tall, spiring horn, a winding length of what could pass for crystalized metal sharpened into a deadly point. The horns themselves seemed to shift color with every second glance and looked to glow the brightest upon these radiant creatures.

Abel had watched in awe and nervous excitement as the large, majestic unicorns had walked calmly up to Daemon, some prancing forward with merriment, to crowd before him, nosing and bumping against him in greeting as if he were one of their own. Daemon had laughed and greeted each one of them just as gladly in turn, his voice mixing warmly among the twinkling bells and beating drums that were the unicorns’ neighs and snorts.

And then, Abel had watched as the herd parted and the largest unicorn he had ever seen, or any horse-like creature he had seen, stepped forward, a powerful stallion with his horned head held high and proud. Daemon had straightened up quickly at the approach, but Abel had sensed no tension from him. Once the stallion had stopped before Daemon, towering over even the tall Supreme, said angel then swiftly bowed, spectral wings lowered to the ground behind him and sweeping out.

The stallion stared for a moment, then shook his head with a snort, slamming his foot upon the ground but once with a splash of white sparks. The large unicorn then lowered his head and his front, bending his front legs to bow to Daemon in turn.

Awed, Abel had then watched both leaders raise together and Daemon address the herd master warmly like an old friend, the large equid in turn stepping forward to lay his head over Daemon’s shoulder in what Abel recognized as a horse’s hug.

Daemon had returned the gesture gladly, then spoke softly to the herd’s head as the other unicorns waited around them, some staring at Abel as they became curious of his presence.

Abel couldn’t help but shuffle his feet awkwardly under their gaze, not knowing what else to do but wait some distance back as Daemon had instructed.

And then, he had frozen as he suddenly found every single gaze now upon him, the large male now also staring directly at him as Daemon turned to look as well.

Abel had watched in tense anticipation as the herd master then began to trot towards him, head once again held high, stride assertive and dominant. His long, whip-like tail lashed back and forth behind him. Abel’s gaze had flickered to Daemon in a panic, but his father had seemed unconcerned with the intimidating approach on his bloodson, only smiling encouragingly from among the now silent, watching herd.

The stallion had stopped a mere two to three feet away from Abel, the angel barely coming up to his chest. Abel’s eyes had darted back to the horse creature at the halt, suddenly very nervous, and took in the sight of him with both fear and wonder.

Now closer, Abel had at that moment seen clearly the flashing shine of his silver, cloven hooves, the long, wispy length of his star-dewed beard, and the electric sparks and lightning that occasionally raced up and down his long, swirling horn.

And his eyes, the unicorn’s eyes were like opals. Milky white, but blazoned with a play-of-color so vivid and alive that a rainbow of streaks seemed to swirl and dance beneath the shimmering lashes.

The big male exhaled in a huff, a cloud of smoky mist leaving his nostrils without any need of a chill in the air. At the bull-like sound and the mythic horse’s intense, swirling gaze, Abel had quickly lowered his own eyes as he stood tensely before the stallion, anxiously unsure of what else to do.

A wave of encouragement and patience then gently nudged against his rapidly pulsing Core from another, like a supportive hand on his shoulder holding him fast.

He had quickly glanced over at Daemon in surprise, seeing his father standing calmly with the others with a confident smile directed at him.

Daemon nodded to him and Abel got the idea.

So slowly, he had turned his attention back to the stallion, then bowed deeply at him.

And Abel had stayed perfectly still when the stallion stepped forward, the unicorn’s breath flattening and rustling his hair. His broad nose nudged the young angel’s halo as he had continued inspecting the angel. Abel had flinched when the unicorn stumped a heavy foot next to his head, the hoof ringing and flying sparks like metal struck.

Then, the stallion’s nose had entered Abel’s sight and gently caught under his chin, pulling his face up. Emeralds met with opals as angel and beast had stared at each other, one with nervous wonder and the other with searching depths.

All was silent, seconds passing with only the rustling of the trees and the distant call of other creatures to fill the zoid of sound as Abel had been caught in the fathomless stare. And then, the stallion pulled back and before Abel could react, swiftly brought his horn down, its sharp point aimed for the angel’s chest. Before he could react, the tip had gently touched his breast, right over his Core, and Abel felt what must have been electricity pass through him, alighting every fiber of his being with curious energy without any harm or pain.

Then it was over and Abel had stood gasping in his then half-bow, overcome with the unexpected surge of pure power and presence that he knew had just searched and touched his very being. So overcome, that it had been several moments before he had sense to lift his gaze and find the massive unicorn bowing to him in return, his horn resting on his shoulder like a knighting sword.

The leader of the Unicorns approved of him.

And just like that, the rest of the herd had flooded around them, the herd master rising and taking steps back to allow his family to greet the newcomer properly. Still somewhat stunned, Abel had not been able to comprehend what had just happened until the friendly sniffing, nudging, and headbutting from the large unicorns around him finally broke through his daze. He had openly laughed with glee as the mythical steeds wholeheartedly accepted him with bell-like nickers, nuzzling him and bumping into him hard enough to knock him off his feet.

The herd continued to assault him with nuzzles and prods as he had happily stroked and petted them, laughing through it all in amazed joy. His joy increased when two foals had skipped through the forest of legs to greet him as well, sniffing at his cape curiously before leaping and kicking in place in playful excitement. One approached and practically purred when Abel petted its head and scratched behind its ears. The other soon climbed over Abel with a wagging tail to get the same attention, like a pair of puppies. Abel had giggled at the comparison as he stroked them both.

The foals then perked up and quickly piled off of him, making room for Daemon as the angelic leader moved through the crowd and stood before his fallen charge. Abel had looked up to see his bloodsire’s soft, blue gaze and warm smile raining down on him as the older angel extended a hand to him.

Abel upon the berth hissed out a small sob, immediately longing to return to that moment with his proud father standing before him. Not here . . . with his father brought low and inert beneath his cheek.

It continued. He remembered gladly taking Daemon’s hand, letting his adoptive father pull him to his feet as the two foals chased each other through the settling herd.

Ruffled wings fluttering behind him, Abel could remember being practically jittery as he smiled happily up at Daemon. Before either of them could speak, Abel threw himself at Daemon and hugged him fiercely with a huge smile. The big angel quickly hugged him back just as tightly as Abel spoke the first thing that came to mind.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He had asked in breathless amazement as he looked up at Daemon from the hug, eyes sparkling. The Supreme had just smiled with a hearty chuckle, a wing tendril raising to ruffle Abel’s hair as he answered with humored honesty.

“Cannot a father have want to surprise his son?” Abel could clearly recall the warmth and absolute joy that the single, affectionate statement had put within his very Core, making the buzzing wonder coursing through his whole body all the more powerful.

And he remembered the small, good-natured smirk that his dad had pointed down at him as he continued in a playful tone.

“Especially when he still holds the title of “The Surprise Archangel”? Abel’s smile and happiness had grown at the answer. He meant to respond back with his own tease before a distant cry and a flicker of golden light caught his attention to the sky beyond Daemon, the unicorns beginning to converse and graze around them without heed. Daemon turned to watch with him, still smiling with a knowing look Abel had managed to caught.

What he saw that day would become familiar with over countless visits after to the Garden with his father and uncles.

A great raptor bird, engulfed in a sun’s shining flame, had soared high above them all as he watched in awe the breaking dawn’s golden rays following behind it, burning away the mist and shadows of night.

The creature brought forth the day itself within so many precious memories within the Garden, precious moments of exploring and enjoying the hidden world with his father to guide him.

Moments of racing and playing with creatures of the Garden. Visiting the most beautiful and important regions of Heaven. Watching the Aurora of the Gates together. Charting the stars and galaxies that drifted through Heaven and Earth. Touring the Earth and its wonders.

Nervously taking his place as Principality. Proudly showing Daemon a thousand times over the years the accomplishments of his angels and humans upon the Mortal Realm. Happily giving the Supreme Archangel a tour of every new wonder that he found among his earthly people.

Moments that now filled his world with tears and heartbreak as he tried to will the moments back, to bring back the excitement and happiness that had once mirrored and crashed against his own from the angel in his arms.

It wasn’t working.

They hurt. All these memories hurt him so when they used to bring joy. 

* * *

(Training Days)

A thousand days in training with his father stampeded through his breaking mind, stomping it further into pieces as each one harboring a memory with the once powerful angel in his arms.

One memory tore through his head and ran straight at his Core, slamming into it with a clear and painful blow.

It had been a day of pure terror and elation. After a year of training with his father and uncles with very little progress, his frustration had finally boiled over. Under all the others’ expectations and his own deep desire to be worthy of his father’s praise and pride, his stress and resolve at last hit its peak.

The training session had been going for several days straight. The lesson then had been less about learning fighting techniques and practicing, and more about sharpening reaction and instinct. To test his agility, quick thinking, and reaction time, his mentors had forbidden weapons, but instead showed no mercy, no restraint in physical combat. Not even Daemon, for the sole reason of knowing ‘going easy’ would not keep him safe.

Abel had yet to make any significant headway against any of them, barely any of his attacks hitting home and barely keeping himself from the blows that just kept coming.

Finally, tired, sore, and frustrated, he had had enough.

As Daemon had flown full speed at him, armored fist pulled back for a hit and wing tendrils flared out ready to grab him, panic and disheartenment had already run its course through Abel, leaving behind a burning resolve to be done with this and finally get something right.

He could remember quickly ducking in the air, his determination and frustration finally giving him an edge and moment of clarity. Remembering a move that they had attempted to teach him, he dodged Daemon’s punch as he darted at his bloodsire’s middle, twisting too quick for his tendrils to grab in time. Plowing into Daemon, he staggered the bigger angel and grabbed hard onto the solid metal of his armor, immediately pulling hard.

Then with a yell, he twisted his body in a spin midair and threw his father straight towards the ground.

Even flying so high over the arena, the force of the throw had Daemon hitting the ground within a blink, his wide, shocked eyes and body disappearing in the resulting explosion of debris.

It was with that first, successful counterattack that day that they all caught a glimpse of the redeemed angel’s enormous, almost outlandish strength, even by their immortal standards.

Everyone had been startled into complete shock as the arena had rumbled at the slamming impact, the shockwave trembling the arena and all the spectators watching from perches and stands. Abel had been in complete shock as well from the power of his throw, pieces of stone and dust arching high enough into the air to force even Abel to shield himself.

Once the geyser of stone ceased and the dust settled, he had felt fear and horror sink in when he saw Daemon laying still in the middle of a massive, concaving crater, his wings of light limp and unmoving amongst the rubble.

He could remember dropping to the ground like a stone and rushing to his father’s side, tears already beginning to fall as he dropped to his knees beside him. He began yelling at Daemon, screaming on about if he was okay and that he was sorry, that he didn’t mean to throw him that hard! The guilt and terror had mounted so high at what he had done that he trembled and curled up like a hopeless child.

In the face of his cries, Daemon had just laid there unresponsive, his shocked eyes wide and staring towards the sky. He blinked several times as he lay amongst the thick splinters of shattered stone, the only sign that he was still functional. The others were also silent around them, even Abel’s uncles stunned into stillness.

Abel had then turned to the others watching, begging them to help Daemon. Raphael had begun to respond to his calls when a sound from Daemon caught the attention of all. Abel had snapped his gaze back to his father at the sound, his distressed mind unable to understand what the sound was until it grew louder and Daemon started to shake.

With a grin erasing the shock from his face, Daemon had started to _laugh_.

A series of chuckles at first . . . then a full-on laugh, a deep, booming sound as he placed a hand over his eyes in his guffawing.

Abel had stared in teary-eyed confusion, but his guilt and fear were stunned by the sound and sight of Daemon’s fullhearted laughter, nearly placing him in awe.

It had been only the second time he had ever heard the Supreme Archangel burst out laughing like that, but the effect was still a matter of awe for Abel, no matter the circumstance it seemed.

Slowly pushing himself up, Daemon had lifted his wings and rolled over in his hole with a grunt, still chuckling as he looked at Abel. The boy remembered being awestruck and suddenly bashful at the look of utter wonder and pride in Daemon’s expression as the archangel looked upon his son with a bright grin and amazed laughter in his voice.

“That was very good! Very well done!” Abel had been so confused over the praise, so sure that he had done wrong and hurt him, but Daemon’s happiness over his successful attack still brought in a sense of pride and joy to the smaller angel, just enough for him to give his excited father a watery smile in return.

It was then that his father had finally noticed the tears and distress the attack had caused Abel, his laughter dying away and his eyes softening. Pulling himself the rest of the way up, he had pulled Abel into a hug, making sure to tell him just how proud he was of him and how extraordinary he was becoming; about how impressive the power of his counterattack had been and how humorous it was to imagine him doing the same to a cocky demon. Such comments had soon returned warmth and happiness to Abel’s soul, the younger laughing and blushing through his remaining tears as he clung to his father’s embrace.

After that, the session ended with a note of success. Daemon left with a few more praises and promises to Abel before returning to his duties for a time, leaving his brothers and the training’s other spectators to congratulate and praise the young Principality further for the “specular smackdown of the Supreme himself”.

While still incredible shy and unsure, the impressed reactions from everyone around him, none upset or worried by his unintentional attack on their Supreme, did help ease his remaining distress with each kind comment.

While still stuck with the feeling of guilt and worry over what had happened, he had undoubtably felt the sense of accomplishment and giddiness over finally making a breakthrough with his training, finally showing some worth for his title and making Daemon laugh in the process.


End file.
